Fourteen
by jakey121
Summary: Sequel to Thirteen. 24 tributes and 24 authors, the tributes must fight one another until a sole victor remains whilst the authors hope that the one to win is their own tribute.
1. District One Reapings

**A/N-** Welcome to the beginning of Fourteen the sequel to Thirteen. Now most of you are probably wondering why this has been started when Thirteen hasn't even finished… well I am sure if you have been reading Thirteen faithfully that you'll have realized updates were rare and to be honest it's not officially discontinued but it's not going to be carried on for now. Still, go and read the chapters that are there if you have not been reading it, you'll be entertained with the authors talent. We have some of the old authors here for Fourteen and a whole host of new faces! They're all awesome, I can guarantee none of you will be disappointed, to be starting this off is really exciting! :D

The mods for Fourteen are me (obviously), DA Member Hogwarts and Acereader55. Both of them are amazing to work with and both are a great help when it comes to organizing different parts of this collaboration.

In case you didn't read Thirteen this is in fact a 24 author collaboration with 24 authors writing their own tribute. They all write their tribute's reaping, have a capitol chapter and depending on how long their tribute survives for will be writing chapters in the Arena.

Anyway final thing, here is the list of authors we have writing Fourteen: Cashmere67, JabberjayHeart, SafeEyesOpen, Nightfuries, Chaos In Her Wake, Fritz as Pritz, tr1xx777, Soundhawk, IWriteStuffWithWordsInIt, Aspect1, District11-Olive, TheTargWoods, Katnissfire87654, LoveIsBlindness, ImmyRose, Blue Eyes Arch Angel, ActressAssassin2010, Jayfish, Fluffy Bunnies Are So Cute, SparrowCries, sgarnett99, androidilenya, lala1366 and The Purple Rose of Desire.

With all these wonderful authors and my two amazing fellow mods this will be amazing I assure you! :D

Anyway enough of me talking, enjoy the District One Reapings!

* * *

**Allure Medina, District One Female**

_**Cashmere67**_

* * *

_Vouloir, c'est pouvoir._

* * *

Some people say that in life, you can only please some people, but not all. You can run around attempting to please everyone, but to no avail. There will always be people to belittle your actions and words, but there will also be people who praise your actions and words.

Panem is the epitome of this notion. It's simple to please someone in the Capitol, but it is also simple to displease someone. Hypothetically speaking, you can either be a victor from District One or a miner from District Twelve, yet you can still have this problem.

Victors please the citizens of the Capitol, but it might displease some people in the victor's home District. Laborers might displease some because of their ignoble work, but might please others because of the way they provide for Panem.

I, on the other hand, think differently. It's simple to please everyone with one thing – appearance. In District One, it's all about your appearance. We are the producers of luxury items, aren't we? Luxury items don't go well with just anyone.

The thing is I don't want to please people solely with my pristine appearance. My demand is hard to comply with though, seeing as I am the only authentic model in District One. This isn't a case of vanity; it's a proven fact. I haven't had any body alterations like the others have, which makes me a target to photographers.

Modeling is not fulfilling. I don't see the point behind it – girls wearing provocative clothes only to be photographed, but for what purpose? Modeling is a profession where your worth is evaluated by your looks. Modeling is enjoyable, but frankly, it's gotten rather tedious. Even if it has its perks like wealth and fame.

I would prefer to please people with my inner-self, rather than my appearance. I want to be deemed and respected as an actual human being, not some doll that they have at their bidding.

They say that beauty is only skin deep, but why can't they see beyond that?

I stroke the sumptuous fabric, letting each stitch on it make contact with my finger. I lift up my arms, awaiting one of the photographer's helpers to assist me with donning this outfit. The fabric rests on my skin, with no wrinkles or tears on it.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? I just love this!"

The helper and I leave my dressing room and begin making our way down a long hallway. There are paintings of the previous chariot rides starting from the 1st Hunger Games all the way to 13th Hunger Games. These outfits are truly a disgrace; only if someone with adequate training in tailoring actually assisted those stylists.

"Allure!" A high-pitched female voice calls my name.

I glance over to where the voice came from, and there stands Glitter, the victor of the 12th Hunger Games. She isn't an actual model, but she is truly beautiful. She's one of the only people I can actually cope with in this narrow-minded District.

Even if she's a victor, she just seems so normal and real. She tells me how it is and doesn't lie to me about anything. Life would be wonderful if there were a bunch of Glitter-duplicates in Panem. Since she's a victor, the Capitol would be happy too. This is a win-win situation.

Glitter embraces me tightly, but makes sure to not wrinkle my outfit.

"After this, how about we go to you-know-where?" She whispers in my ear.

I wink at her, "I have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

The photographer claps his hands and gestures for us to step onto the platform.

"Let's do what we do best."

I wave my hand in the air and the photographer gathers his crew around a white platform Glitter and I are standing on. The photographer had some ingenious idea: to show how beauty in District One can not only be in a victor, but can also be in citizens. How flattering.

The cameras begin to flash, indicating the photo-shoot has begun. I place my hand on my hip and Glitter places her opposite hand on her opposite hip. We then sway back and forth, ruffling our hair and shimmying our shoulders. We pretend to kiss and then put our faces next to each other and pucker our lips.

The photographer holds up his hand, "That's enough for the day. You all have to get ready for the reaping, so we will continue tomorrow."

Before the photographer and his crew can clean up their equipment, Glitter and I have made our way out of the building. It's rather early in the morning, so we aren't causing any commotion. We skip and twirl on the sidewalks, giggling with each step.

We arrive at the Victor's Village gates and she scans a card in front of a device which makes the gates open automatically.

"District Three really impresses me with their technology at times."

I laugh at my own joke, but I am quickly silenced. Glitter puts her finger over her mouth and makes a 'sh' sound.

"If you want to keep this a secret, you have to keep quiet."

Glitter peers into the windows of each victor's home – Spark, Crash, and her own. The rest of the houses are vacant, waiting for the next victor to reside in it.

She goes into the backyard of her own home and lifts up a false-floor. I'm surprised no one has found this yet; it's only covered by grass and some dirt.

Glitter latches herself onto the ladder and begins to climb down. I walk backwards towards the ladder, making sure no one can see us. We both climb down into the room below; it's a cold, pitch-black room.

The room is full of the scent of metal and the perfume that was sprayed on us for the photo-shoot. I inhale a few times just to intake the scent completely. This room allows me to escape reality and be a totally different person.

"I know this is your last year and I know you don't want to volunteer, but just in case something happens," Glitter turns on the lights.

The room is revealed: training equipment of all types – books, nets, knives, swords, maces, bow and arrows, among many others – are placed all around the room.

Ever since Glitter's victory two years ago, she had this room created. Her parents know about it, but they don't know I am the one using it. I asked her to do it since I wanted to see what all of the other kids were doing in District One. They train and eventually volunteer to go into the games – just like Glitter did.

My parents are unaware of what I have been doing with Glitter, though. They're too busy to pay any attention to me anyway, so it's not like they'd listen to me even if I told them about it. They would only hear me, but wouldn't comprehend what I was saying to them.

Hiding secrets from them only makes me feel rebellious. _Models Gone Wild_. How's that for a magazine headline?

Even after the tragedy that befell Glitter's family last year, she stills helps me, no matter what. I think helping me train is a therapeutic relief for her. She's healing, but very, very slowly.

Glitter holds up a box wrapped in cloth, "New delivery."

I unwrap the box and place it on a table. I lift the box open and two newly forged knives are in separate holsters. On the outside of the holster, "Allure Medina" is sewn into it. I take out one of the knives; the knife is about eight inches long. The tip of the knife is extremely sharp and the handle of the knife is made from some type of gemstone. When I hold it up towards the light, there are designs of flowers carved into it.

"Glitter! These are beautiful!" I hug her tightly and accidentally put the knife into her hair.

"You're lucky that didn't cut any of it off!" Glitter banters.

I place the knife back in the box and walk over to the array of weapons hanging on the wall. Glitter quickly follows and puts her hands over my eyes.

"You have to tell me which way I'm coming from. Now close your eyes," Glitter removes her hand.

I remain quiet and still for a second, figuring out where Glitter is in the room. I focus my attention on my ears to hear if I can hear anyone breathing. I hear a muffled footstep behind me and I take one step backwards. With my eyes still closed, I hold out my hand behind me and it 'slits' Glitter's neck.

She feigns injury, "My neck! My neck is slit!"

"I've got you now, tribute!"

Glitter holds her hand over her mouth to make her voice sound different, "May I present to you the victor of the 14th annual Hunger Games – Allure Medina!"

I hold out my hand and help her up, "Only if it was that simple."

"Let's get down to business, Allure. What are your plans this year at the reaping?" Glitter inquires.

"Plans? I planned on just sitting there, watching those vicious girls make fight for their place on the stage," I retort.

"You know what I mean, Allure," she says in a serious tone.

"Well," I begin.

Glitter interrupts me before I can speak again, "Well what?"

I continue, "As I was saying, well I'd rather not volunteer, but-"

"Allure. People have planned on volunteering for years and you're deciding the day of the reaping? The Hunger Games isn't a joke, you can actually die there," Glitter sighs and closes her eyes at the word 'die'.

I bite my lip. There has to be something I can say that would comfort her.

"Sorry for being rude. It's your choice, not mine, I just don't want to lose two people," she clenches her fists.

"Don't worry about it, Glitter, I understand," I say soothingly.

Glitter shrugs and looks towards the weapons, "Let's get some training in."

I saunter over to the archery section, "Is it really that simple to kill someone?"

Glitter rubs her finger along an axe, "It is. It's too simple; how quick you can end a life."

"Does it always have to be by weapons? Or can it be by something else?" I grab the bow from the middle of the rack.

"Fire, drowning, starvation, dehydration, hypothermia, hyperthermia," Glitter informs. "I can go on."

"I didn't realize there were so many other things that can kill you. Is that what most people die from?"

"Depends on the arena and what the Gamemakers decide to do," Glitter hands me an arrow.

I nock the arrow on the bowstring, "Just wondering, but what do you think the purpose behind the games is?"

I release the arrow and it lands in the arm of the dummy. I roll my eyes and place the bow back on the wall. Obviously, a bow and arrow isn't the best weapon for me.

Glitter laughs, "Good idea. Stick with the knives."

I stick out my tongue and grab a single throwing knife. I close my right eye and aim at the dummy, but Glitter begins to speak again.

"And that's not a question anyone can give a definite answer to. The games affect everyone differently. Personally, the games made me realize how cruel the Capitol is," Glitter gestures for me throw the knife.

I throw the knife and it lands a few inches from bulls-eye. I guess that's better than the arm, but still, I need to improve. If I ever want to kill someone, I would have to do it in a quick second, rather than wasting time by using more than one knife or arrow on them.

"What do you mean?" I grab another knife from the rack.

"What is the actual purpose behind the games? Wouldn't it be easier just to line up two teenagers from each District and murder them publicly?" Glitter stares forward with a solemn expression on her face.

"Yes, but-" I begin speaking, but Glitter interrupts me.

"They do it for entertainment. They are entertained by watching kids murder each other. Does no one else realize that there is something wrong with this?" Glitter says, evidently infuriated.

I remain silent, only because I don't know how to respond to that. She makes a good point, but what can she do? The Capitol already adores her for being a victor. She has done exactly what she thinks is cruel; kill children and entertain the Capitol.

"You should go home and get ready for the reaping, Allure," Glitter murmurs.

I throw the knife without aiming and it lands in the dummy's neck. That would kill someone, right?

I grab the box that Glitter gave me from the table and begin climbing up the ladder. I almost make it to the top, but Glitter grabs my leg.

She bites her lip, "Tell me the truth, Allure. Are you going to volunteer?"

"No."

* * *

_I stand on the edge of the seventeen year old section. In front of me are the sixteen year olds and behind me are the eighteen year olds. _

_The escort reaches her hand into the bowl, but shouts of volunteers fill the air._

_A boy steps out of the eighteen year old section and makes his way up to the stage. "Zeo Radonix."_

_The escort reaches her hand into the other bowl and more shouts of volunteers fill the air. _

_A girl steps out of the eighteen year old section and makes her way up to the stage. "Silver Hartford."_

_The girl, Silver, struts up to the stage with a smug grin upon her face. Glitter is clapping for her, but you can see beyond her façade. Glitter is worried, even paranoid, about what will happen to Silver. Glitter knows she won't make it out alive. _

* * *

Once I reach the top of the ladder I begin walking back towards the Victor's Village gates. I'm nearly there, but then I stop because I hear someone following me.

_Spark_.

Spark Perry – the victor of the 5th Hunger Games. He won at the age of sixteen, so I was only seven. My parents bet on him when he participated in the 5th Games and ultimately won a large amount of money from his victory. When I turned sixteen, my parents approached Spark and asked to be in an arranged-relationship with me. I had no say in this, but I would have vetoed it anyway. Why would I want to be in a relationship with a victor?

Of course, he complied with my parents' demands. Thus, Spark and I became a couple. He did it for the fame at first; a prestigious victor and one of the most beautiful girls. That would attract some attention to him, wouldn't it?

It did. But when I turned eighteen this year, he got even more intimate. I overheard Spark talking to my parents about asking for my hand in marriage. My parents, being the ditzy and oblivious people that they are, said they would allow it. Once again, I didn't have a say in this. He hasn't asked me yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if he were to ask me at the reaping; doing it while being broadcasted throughout Panem would really make him known.

"Allure, I've missed you," Spark rests his head on my shoulder and kisses me on the cheek. "Where have you been?"

I kiss him on his cheek, "Had a photo-shoot this morning and then was with Glitter."

"Doing what?"

I ignore his question, "Just a question: Are you mentoring this year?"

"What's it to you?" He teases.

"I just want to give the tributes a heads up about how you can be a pain at times," I retort.

"You should be a comedian instead of a model," Spark puts his arm around me. "Where are you off to now?"

"Home. I have to get ready for the reaping, but you can come if you would like," I lift his arm off of me.

Spark and I walk side-by-side while holding hands on the way back to my house. We get glances from people we pass by and I even hear a few whistles in the distance. Everyone knows about our scandalous relationship. If this is what they want, this is what they'll get. I kiss Spark on the lips and jump into his arms.

When we get to my house, my parents are just getting out of their car. They notice me and Spark and wait in front of the house for us. We walk a few more steps and then we get to my house, both of my parents instantly go to Spark.

"Good morning, Sir," Spark extends his hand.

"It's Chalice to you," my father shakes Spark's hand.

My mother shakes Spark's hand and then hugs him, "It's so nice to see you!"

"You too, Chiffon," Spark says.

"How about we go inside?" I insist.

My mother ignores me, "It's a tad chilly; how about we go inside?"

Spark, my mother, and my father all go ahead of me, leaving me alone outside. I sit down on the stoop in the front of the house and look at the scenery.

I live in the wealthier part of the District, simply because of my modeling and my parents' betting. They bet on the tributes, that is. We haven't always been this wealthy. Before the 1st Hunger Games, we were middle-class, but then they decided to bet on the tributes. That definitely allowed them to accrue more money.

They haven't lost a bet yet which causes suspicion in others. My parents say it's skill, but I say it's luck. Betting is pure luck. Like last year, my parents insisted on betting on this one tribute that was considered an under-dog. Ironically, that tribute won, and in return, my parents won some money and their egos expanded.

"You're allowed to come inside, you know."

I roll my eyes and giggle, "Thanks for your permission, dad."

He sits down next to me and starts playing with my hair. I prefer him over my mother for no reason other than the fact that he somewhat cares about me. He definitely does not deserve the 'Father of the Year' award, though.

"He's quiet the gentlemen. Sparks, that is," he says in a hushed tone.

"At least you approve of him," I say sarcastically.

"I'm trying to help you here, Allure."

"With what exactly?" I raise my voice.

"Your relationship with him," he stands up and leans against the column behind him.

"How is that going to help? What would help is a restraining order," I sneer.

"You have to understand-"

"No, you don't tell me what I have to do," I shout.

"Why do you have a problem with him? He's a victor!"

"Your point? I'm a model. You're a gambler," I vociferate.

"Why aren't you happy with the life you have? It's perfect, Allure, don't you realize that?" He opens the front door and gestures for me to go inside.

I sit on the stoop for a few more seconds, not looking at my father. My life is nowhere near perfection. How oblivious and ignorant can he be?

"If you hate your life that much, volunteer to go into the games. Volunteer and then die, and then you'll see how good your life is."

I stand in the doorway and give him the dirtiest look possible. Just keep digging your hole, dad. See where that gets you.

My mother and Spark are in the kitchen conversing. When Spark sees me he winks at me, but he knows something's wrong. I walk up the stairs into my room and slam the door shut. I can hear Sparks coming up the stairs, but I lock the door before he can come in.

"I know you're in there, Allure. Open up."

I open the doors to my wardrobe and scan my clothes to see what would be the best to wear to the reaping. These outfits are truly atrocious. Skimpy, skimpy, and even skimpier. But that's what the people want, so I _must _comply.

There is a dress in the corner of my wardrobe that I have never worn before. It is a luxurious fabric that is nearly transparent. It is strapless and short; it reveals my chest and it only goes up to a little past my tights. Diamonds are embedded all over the dress and it shimmers when light reflects off of it. I grab the matching shoes and go into the bathroom.

I doff the outfit I have been wearing since early this morning and put on my new one. I look at myself in my mirror and look better than ever. This will definitely make people respect me for who I am, right?

On my bed there is the box that Glitter gave me earlier. At least I can say I have at least one true friend here. She's a friend who actually respects me for who I am and actually knows the real me. Only if it was that simple to gain more of this type of friend.

I unlock the door and before I can step back, Spark opens it and walks in. He eyes me up and down with a smirk on his face. The beauty of a girl never fails to impress someone.

"You look like a volunteer," he says, adding emphasis on the word 'volunteer'.

"What makes you think that?" I narrow my eyes.

"You're all dressed up. People only dress up if they volunteer. They would want to look good, wouldn't they?"

"Is that so?" I leave my room and begin to walk down the stairs.

My mother and father stand at the bottom of the staircase with a camera in their hand.

"Wait, wait! It's picture time!" My mother squeals.

Me and Spark laugh for a few seconds, but then realize she's serious. Yes, we must document this moment. 'Off to the Reaping': Another great magazine headline.

My mother takes a picture and we leave the house before she can even say if it was good or not.

For the most part Spark doesn't bother me, but when you bring up the Hunger Games, he changes. He was arrogant and vicious as ever during the games and makes sure to possess that mentality even after the games. He knows how he will mentor this year and will make sure District One brings home another victor. But that's what all mentors say. I mean, look at last year, District One didn't bring home a victor, which is such a disappointment.

How will District One survive now? They _only _have three victors. Pity us, Panem.

We are your favorite District, aren't we? So grant us with some _special _treatment.

The road to the Justice Building lies ahead of us. This street is much more extravagant than most. The sidewalks are made of a luxurious gemstone and in the center are gold stars, where the victor's names will all eventually go. There are only three at the moment – Spark, Crash, and Glitter. Light-posts are embedded with diamonds and are very well kept; there are no finger prints on them.

It would be a wonderful sight to see, only if you weren't walking to your death.

Sparks wraps his fingers around mine, "I can remember volunteering only if it happened a few months ago."

Not really paying attention to him, I flip my hair and nod, "Oh, really?"

"The feelings of beating the other contenders to that stage and then stating my name were just so extraordinary."

A male Peacekeeper sits at a table in front of us. He has a needle in his other hand and a book lying in front of him. He holds out his grand and wiggles his fingers. I hold out my hand and he grabs a hold of it with great force.

"Now, don't go off and sell that blood – it's valuable. That's a model's blood you have right there."

I continue walking, not giving him any time to respond to my witty remark.

Look at all of these hopeful volunteers; standing there, positioning their body into a stance where they could quickly get to the stage. How pathetic can they be? At least have some grace and formality while volunteering.

It's their intentions of volunteering I should judge them off of, though. They will all try to volunteer for different reasons. Some can be like me – a person who wants respect. Others can be like Spark – only doing it for the fame and wealth.

Seeing all of these people makes me think: Would volunteering really be worth it?

_Of course not, Allure. Why would it be? You have said it yourself – volunteering is a death sentence. _

I stand in the eighteen year old section, in between two girls I have never seen before. They are rather pretty, though. If we weren't at the reaping I would introduce myself, but now is not the time. Not like they would talk to me anyway, I'm Allure, the poised, yet pompous model.

I used to have a lot of friends. People who liked me for who I was, but once I began modeling, that all changed. They resented me, for a reason unknown to me. Only if I was aware of the consequences then, I wouldn't have decided to model. I would rather have real friends than people who follow me around just to get an autograph.

Have you ever turned around and realize people were talking about you? Staring at you, judging your every movement.

I have. It's a wonderful feeling to know that you're on someone else's mind. You just feel so noticed when your name leaves someone else's mouth, regardless of what comes after it.

At least, that's what they you want you to think. Being talked about is horrifying and vexatious. People have the nerve to deem themselves superior to others, allowing themselves to belittle anyone inferior. Everyone is equal to one another, whether you're from the Capitol or District Twelve – we're all human beings.

I have heard some rumors about myself too: a prostitute, a thief, a rebel in disguise, even a transsexual.

It's pathetic; how quickly something spreads. The more it's quoted, the more believable it is.

The mayor and the mentors sit down in chairs on the stage, and then turn their attention to the side of the stage. Glimpses of last year's games recall in everyone's mind. This is where the Silver and Zeo received their death sentence last year.

When all of the children in District One are accounted for, the escort, Venus Zalarez, makes her way onto the stage.

Venus Zalarez. She's a 47 year old woman who is a perfect example of what the other Capitol citizens are like. She is incredibly thin and is awkwardly tall. Her skin is tanned, a little too much if I may say so myself. Venus has glitter coated onto places on her face, a green curly wig, and is wearing a short green mermaid-style dress.

"Welcome! Welcome! Before we begin, we have a special film brought to you all the way from the Capitol," she says in a high-pitched tone.

Behind her, a video begins playing. It is raining heavily and there are skulls covered in mud lying on the ground. A bomb has been dropped in the background, and then the voice over begins.

"War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen Districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained."

_Tell me more._

"And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. The people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost and the traitors were defeated. We swore as a nation we would never know this treason again."

_How frightening. _

"And so it was decreed, that each year, the various Districts of Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice."

_You don't say?_

"The lone victor bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."

Venus wipes a tear from her eye and clears her throat, "Now the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing District One in the 14th annual Hunger Games. Ladies first."

Venus goes near the glass bowl on the right of the stage and rubs her finger around the rims of it. She lowers her hand in, and from the corners of my eyes I can see several girls clench their fists. At least they're waiting until after the girl's name is called to act like savages.

_Do it, Allure. Do it. _

The words repeat incessantly in my mind. I can't volunteer, it isn't that easy. These girls won't be easy to beat to the stage. This is my last year of eligibility, anyway. Next year and I am exempt from the Hunger Games.

_But you're not exempt from modeling. You will always be the blonde-bombshell from District One. _

No. I will _not _live under these circumstances anymore.

I glance at my mother and father, who are whispering to themselves, not paying attention to me. Even Spark isn't looking at me. Once I look at Glitter, a smile forms on her face.

I can't just leave, can I? Not this abruptly. But I have to.

She picks a piece of paper and holds it in front of her face. Without realizing it, I am standing in the middle of the aisle. The other females from the other sections are glaring at me, bespeaking a sense of envy and hatred. This is my chance.

I begin walking forward, but I only walk a few feet until a great force knocks me down to my feet. I look upwards, and a large female is standing above me. Her head is tilted down at me and she is gritting her teeth.

"You have no right to volunteer. Now, why don't you run back and go take some more pictures?" She snarls.

I grab her ankle and attempt to pull her down, but she is too large for me to do anything. I wrap my other hand around her ankle and swing my leg around, tripping her. She falls to the ground and curses, but before she can get back up, I force myself to stand back up.

"What is going on here?" Venus asks, trying not to anger either one of us anymore. "We need to hurry this up, ladies."

It seems no other girls are volunteering this year. They're probably not volunteering because of those two disgraceful tributes last year. I have learned a lesson from both: Looks aren't everything and trivial talents mean nothing in the Hunger Games. Someone will have to redeem District One, and unfortunately, I will try to be that person. But my intentions of volunteering go beyond that.

I stand at the edge of the stage and slowly walk up the stairs. I face the crowd, without looking at anyone specific. Venus walks over and grabs me by my hand and walks with me to the center of the stage.

Venus puts the microphone in front of me, "Is there something you want to say?"

"I volunteer," I murmur.

"Say it louder," she puts the microphone closer to my face.

"I volunteer," I say much louder, adding some confidence into my words.

"And what is your name?"

"Allure Medina."

"Beautiful name, Allure. Let's have a round applause for our female tribute!" Venus points to me.

The crowd begins to clap and it gets louder each second. I try not to look at my parents, Spark, or Glitter, but I have an urge to; I wonder what they're thinking right now. Did I really mean that much to them, anyway?

"Now for the boys," Venus walks over to the glass bowl on the opposite side of the stage. "Agate-"

_Thud_.

In the eighteen year old section of the males, a boy just pushed another boy to the ground. The boy, who I presume will be my District partner, grabs the boy on the ground by his collar. He stares at the boy who is in his hands eyes pensively for a few seconds. He drops the boy to the floor and cracks his neck.

"I volunteer!" He vociferates.

Venus gestures for him to come to the stage quicker, but the boy is looking at the crowd, smiling proudly. He makes it to the stage and grabs the microphone from Venus' hands.

"My name is Quartz Van Puten, and I will have the honor of representing District One in the 14th annual Hunger Games," he declares smugly.

Quartz hand the microphone back to Venus. She waves me over and I stand next to Quartz. I glance at him quickly, but he doesn't look back at me. He stares forward, still having a smile on his face.

"Here we are, District One, your tributes – Allure Medina and Quartz Van Puten. The two of you, shake hands," Venus steps back.

Quartz turns toward me and I am in awe at the sight of him. I eye him up and down, but he notices me checking him out, causing me to giggle childishly. He then eyes me up and down, and winks at me. Quartz holds out his hand and raises an eyebrow.

I push his hand to the side and give him a hug, "I can tell we're going to get along just fine."

He keeps his arms to the side, not hugging me back, "We'll see about that."

Venus pulls me off of Quartz and raises both of our hands.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

To end this wonderful reaping, we will have our final good-byes. We will have only three minutes, so we have to speak quickly. Not to everyone, though; only to people that are worthy of seeing me before I leave. To be honest, that's not too many people.

A Peacekeeper escorts me into the Justice Building and leads me into a room. The room is full of bookshelves stacked with books and there are several paintings on the wall. In the center of the room there is a table with a couch and two seats around it.

The door opens and my first visitor appears – Glitter.

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

"It was your choice, not mine. I know what you're going through and I know why you volunteered, but, I just don't understand," Glitter says with tears forming in her eyes.

"I just can't live here anymore," I reply.

"What if you win? You'd come right back to District One," Glitter wipes her eyes.

"I don't think I'll win, Glitter. It's not about that. If I go into the Hunger Games, I will gain respect for something other than my beauty. It's what Panem wants – tributes."

She nods, "I understand that, Allure, but, I don't know."

I put my hands on her shoulders, "I'll be fine, Glitter."

Glitter puts her hands on my shoulders, "I just can't let another person disappear from my life."

We both hug each other and all I can hear is Glitter's sobs. I know she hasn't recovered from last year's catastrophe, but she needs to realize that this isn't about her. It's about me.

A Peacekeeper opens the door and grabs Glitter by the hand and escorts her out of the room. The door slams shut and I wait in anticipation to see who my next visitors will be.

My parents then walk into the room, but they stay near the door. They don't come near me at all and they have no expression on their faces. Is this how they are going to spite me?

"We won't be betting for you," my mother says sternly.

"We won't even be sponsoring you," my father adds.

"You're too kind," I retort.

"I have nothing to say to you."

My mother turns around and leaves the room. She has nothing to say to me? Why would she need to say something to me, anyway? She's one of the reasons I want to leave this District. Good riddance to you, mother.

"Aw! Please come back!" I holler sarcastically.

My father also turns around, but stands at the door. Without facing me, he begins to nod and tap his finger on the wall.

"Good luck," he whispers.

Spark appears at the front of the door with something in his hand. It's a small box with a bow on top of it. He puts the box in his pocket and walks towards me with a grin on his face.

He twiddles his fingers, "I was going to ask you earlier today, but things didn't work out the way I wanted them to."

_Pop that pretty question right now, baby._

"What did you want to ask me, Spark?" I inquire.

"I love you, Allure. I really do. Even if it doesn't seem like it at times, you were the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"Even more important than your victory?" I banter.

He smirks, "Yes, Allure, even more important than my victory."

Spark gets on his knee and holds the box out in front of him. He opens the box and there is a diamond ring inside of it. The ring is extremely sumptuous; the diamond in the middle of the ring is rather large and it shimmers under the light.

I grab the box from his hand and raise it higher. The diamond glistens even more from the light reflecting off of it. I lower my hand and close the box. I hold it out towards him and he stares at me, bespeaking a sense of confusion.

I gulp, "I might not make it back, Spark."

"I'm willing to take that risk, Allure," he takes the box out of my hands.

I kiss him on the cheek, "How about you prove your love for me?"

He crosses his arms across his chest, "What do you mean?"

"I will only accept your hand in marriage if I return home as the victor. I want to see if you actually love me and will not do anything while I'm in the Capitol."

"But I'll be in the Capitol with you."

There go my plans, then. I have no intentions of actually marrying him. It's hard to believe that he actually 'loves me'.

Our relationship wasn't fate. It wasn't destiny. It was free-will.

But everything happens for a reason. So, what is the reasoning behind my life turning out the way it is?

A Peacekeeper barges in, "Your three minutes are up."

Spark nods and looks at me one more time, "We will continue this discussion on the train."

Venus knocks on my door and gestures for me to follow her. Once I enter the hallway, Quartz is also standing there. I smile at him, but he doesn't look at me. Venus takes us both back outside and we start walking towards the train station.

I have personally never heard of Quartz, or the 'Van Puten' family for that matter. He's a tad flamboyant, but I won't judge. He has a white shirt on with black pants. It's casual and not too flashy. His beach-blonde hair compliments his fairly tanned skin. I catch a glimpse of his eyes too; they're hazel, but there's something beyond them. Something I can't put my finger on.

I wonder why he volunteered. Does he have someone to impress? Does he want the fame and fortune? Or is he different?

I'll find out soon enough. But I do hope he is different like me. I hope he volunteered for something other than what most kids volunteer for.

Will he be my friend? Or will he be one of those people who only speak with you and then ultimately betray you?

For now, I will enjoy meeting my District partner. Once I'm in the Capitol, I'm sure the other tributes will be a joy to meet as well.

I don't plan on telling anyone why I volunteered. Not even the other Careers from Two and Four. They won't understand why I volunteered; only I can. They will think I'm being conceited and deluded. It's a fact that I am beautiful.

They might ask, 'Why would you volunteer because you're beautiful?'

Take it from me; being beautiful isn't all that fun.

Call me a dreamer, call me farfetched, call me whatever you please.

Is it wrong to want an average life? A new start?

Anything other than this will do. But I know none of this can happen. Even if I win the Hunger Games, I will still remember the life I live now.

I could move to a different place, change my name, and forget everything about my life now.

New beginning. New reputation. New me.

Unfortunately, none of this is possible. Not under these circumstances.

Therefore, I will start with the thing I want the most – respect.

I want people to know my true self and be able to remember me from anything other than looks. I don't want to be recalled as the 'pretty girl that was on the cover of last week's magazine'.

I know I have already gained some respect just by volunteering. It might be from people who live in the Capitol, but I have at least pleased one person. But this is only the start of my revelation. This is most certainly not the last time you will hear my name.

I want to be a role-model, not a supermodel.

* * *

**Quartz Van Puten, District One Male  
**

_**JabberjayHeart**_

* * *

The first thing I suggest you learn about me is that I'm _better_ than you. It might come as a shock, it might come as a surprise, but either way, it's probably always been true, you've just chose to ignore it completely.

The second thing you should learn about me is that whilst I am superior, it doesn't mean that I come from some sugar and sweet background or family life. Quite the opposite actually. Everyone assumes that a great, wealthy life breeds arrogance and superiority. Truth is, it kinda does, but for me, it doesn't. I have the good life. My family has money and I always have food and the best things that I could possibly ever want. I pretty much have it all. Everything you could ever dream of. Yet, I also have a cruel father who expects far too much of me, a mother who sits back and watches with a grim expression, yet never speaks out of turn, and an unruly sister whose an even bigger of a bitch than me.

See, most people have a soft, vulnerable side that they hide with big actions and even bigger threats. Mine is more about hiding my life and still showing you that it's better than what you have. That's how I am. That is Quartz Van Puten.

* * *

"The reapings are tomorrow," my father, Kash, says from across the large dinner table. "I hope you plan on being the first up there, Quartz."

I nod slowly, daring not to speak. To anyone else, I would have seized their life with a few simple words. But my father is another case. I've learned over the years that speaking out against him only proves to be much more hassle and problematic than it deserves to be. I look down to my food, not even bothering to acknowledge Crystal's vapid and mocking stare at me. She's lucky. She was never forced into volunteering or training for the sake of the family name. No. She's a girl, a beautiful girl with striking bleach white hair, and someone so easy to marry off to some big man that would provide a _lot_ of interest in my father's business.

She's the token daughter, used for her looks and marriage potential. To become another trophy wife, like my mother.

She won't get a say in her husband. My father will pick that for her. Not deciding on love, but rather who will bring more money, clients, business or partners into his own business. He'll pick what suits him best and Crystal will have no choice but to comply or be banished from the family.

"Answer me."

I look back up, giving another curt nod. "Indeed."

I try to make my words sound strong but obeying, instead, they sound more like sarcasm. I wince a little as his glare strikes across the table, and if it could, everything on top of it would have been set alight, burned to a crisp.

"Well, I expect nothing more from you. You've been training your entire life for this moment, and I expect you to put the practice into proper use," Father stops, chewing on his food as he points his spit-shined fork at Crystal. "She used what she had to her advantage. I expect you to do the same."

In my mind, I only really hear the words "expect". Expect this and expect that. Full of mindless expectations. If _I_ would ever chose to have volunteered, it would have been for me, not him. But instead, I let the burning retort die on my tongue as I nod once more.

"Good." Father stops, looking at me. "You are prepared, aren't you? You knew this day would come eventually."

"I do know, father."

"Don't use that tone with me," his words increase a little, booming just a tad louder. "At the moment, you are useless to me. You can't work yourself around the business, you definitely aren't marriage material that could bring me some high clients, and as far as work goes, you're lazy. Plain and simple. _Lazy_."

The main part of me wants to stand up, take a knife, leap across the table and then draw a pretty, brainless little pattern into his skull, just to show that he doesn't control me. The other part of me though, the part that's always been cowardice and just wants him to be proud of me, is the real part, and that means biting your tongue, holding your breath and hoping for the best possible answer to emerge from his mouth.

"I'll be at the reaping tomorrow, and I expect to see you as the only boy running for the stage and actually getting there."

"Honey," my mother, Saffron, cuts in. "You have a business meeting just before the reaping. You may not make it."

"I will make it to ensure that he does as he is told."

She instantly backs down, just like she always has done. Their marriage has always been the same. More of an agreement rather than based on love and friendship, much what Crystal is destined to have. He promised to make sure she had a fine life, and in return, she kept quiet and went about her motherly chores that involve cooking three meals a day, washing clothes and making sure the house never had a speck of dust lying around. If there was, well, I never stuck around for that part. Who would want to, anyway?

"Have no fear," Crystal suddenly pipes in, and I can feel the ribbon of anger rubbing at my heart. "I'll escort Quartz there myself in case you can't make it, daddy."

He smiles fondly at her. A smile I've never actually gained for myself. Worse of all, I tried my hardest to make him proud. So damn hard. I would never say this aloud, though, and no-one would ever find out. Quartz Van Puten isn't weak in any sense. He doesn't have any vulnerabilities. Quartz Van Puten is better than you. So very much better.

Nobody really speaks after that. Father and mother have little talks here and then, whilst I play a glaring death match with my sister that's had life so easy for her because she's a girl and apparently, having different genitals means different treatments in the Van Puten household. Mother picks up the plates ready to clean after we've all finished, whilst father retreats to his study to read a book.

Just me and Crystal.

"Why do you hate me so much?" I ask her, plain and simple.

A ghost of a smirk plays on her lips before it disappears. "I don't hate you. I just find this all so _very_ funny."

"So very funny that he treats me like trash whilst you get appraisal?"

"Something like that," Crystal has always been mean. Cold and cruel like the stone she's named after. "You know for a fact that even if he wasn't forcing you, you'd go up and volunteer."

"I'd want to volunteer for me, my own choice, not because he says so."

Crystal takes some time to digest, playing with a strand of her bleach blonde hair. "Well, change your mind then. Look, I don't really care about your problems. If you don't volunteer and enter, you might as well move out now. He will disown you, Quartz, and it will be your fault. He only asks of one thing of you."

"To enter a death match and potentially die."

"You won't die," Crystal scoffs. "Now you're just being melodramatic."

Crystal's striking blue eyes find mine, except I can't sense the possible hurt swimming in them. Surely she can't be as cruel to want me to go?

"Just do it. You know you can do it. He's been training you for years. You can handle a sword, a knife, a bow and arrow if you really need to. I've seen you, Quartz, and I know you have a good chance. You need to just go in and get it over it. Get in there, win, and when you come back, he might treat you differently. You might have made him proud for once."

A burning remark, just like before, flounders before it blooms. "Changing your tune, aren't we? One minute you don't care for my problems. Next minute you're encouraging me. You know I'm going to do it, so why complain?"

She holds up her perfectly manicured hands. "You complained about me escorting you there. Think about it, you dumbass. Would you rather him be there, watching you, waiting for you, all that budding pressure rolling in your shoulders for you to move or would you rather me, someone who doesn't care and probably won't even _look_ at your feeble attempt at standing out?"

The worse thing is, I know she's right. The lesser of two evils, I guess. A father whose eyes will bore into my skull, or a sister who just doesn't give a damn. I won't let her know that, though. She'd only lap it up and that itself will increase the size of her head dramatically. Instead, I stand, not giving her a look as I walk to my bedroom.

That evening, I just lay there in bed, arms behind my head and staring at my ceiling.

All the possible thoughts just wash around my head. I could do it. I know I could do it. Getting sponsors wouldn't be so hard because I'm a beautiful Career. I'd have that pitiful alliance already set up, so that wouldn't be a problem. I could just stick with a sword at the very least. That I know I can damage. Knives, too, but I'll avoid the bow and arrows. I'm not the greatest shot, and I wouldn't want to embarrass myself in any way possible. If I go in, I need a clear, strong head.

I don't mind going in. I've _never_ minded going in. I just want to go in for me and not him. I want to go in with my ideals and incentives on the line, not his. And I'm not going to lie; one of those ideals, those wishes, is for him just to smile at me like he does to Crystal.

The thoughts begin to cloud and my eyelids slipping closed. I fall into sleep that night with a head full of thoughts and decisions to be made for the next day.

* * *

"Get up you buffoon."

My head peeks out from under the covers, and when I see the familiar blonde curls drifting down, it takes a lot to not to make a verbal vomiting sound. The covers are soon ripped from me, and I barely hear the muffled snort Crystal does. Then I feel a finger poking into my bare stomach.

"Getting a little pudgy, Quartz, what are you eating?"

"Getting a little fat, Crystal, is that the new trend?"

She makes a disgruntled sound, moving to my window and ripping back the curtains harshly. "Get moving, it starts in about two hours and your idiot friend Opal is downstairs waiting for you."

Opal. It takes some time to actually remember who she is before it clicks in. Opal, that girl who began stalking me last year. For some reason, when last year came about, she decided that she wanted to hang around me and my friends. We were the popular ones at school, and she wasn't. Yet she just began following us, hopelessly lost like some little puppy. After a time, it becomes tedious, and you just have to accept it because who wants to be mean to a little puppy, no matter how annoying?

I throw myself out of bed quickly, skipping across the hallway towards our bathroom. I step under the warm spray of the shower, running my hand through my hair to wash it. I must look good. I have to look good, because well, all those cameras will be on me and me alone. The escort might try to steal my limelight with her ridiculous hair like last time, but it won't happen this time. The worst part is, as I lather and rinse my hair, I know my gut just sinks.

Does he even care that a part of me is doing all this for _him_?

I would have volunteered anyway; that's what I keep reminding myself. I was planning on doing it after all the training I went through. I wanted to put it all into practice. But the least he could do is care a little that I might never come back, my death potentially being on his conscious if he truly believes he's the sole reason for the volunteering.

I shake my head of the thoughts, staring at a few stray strands of my blonde hair draining down the drain.

I'm doing this for _me_. I'm doing this for _him_.

Climbing out the shower, I grab a towel, dry myself down before wrapping it around my small waist and running into the bedroom. It doesn't take me long to dry. My hair is short, cropped, so it dries within seconds. I've always hated the idea of waiting for it to dry or spending too much time doing it. When dried, I throw on my black jeans and a white top, slide into socks and then my boots, before smiling to myself as I walk out.

As I clamber down the stairs, I hear Opal's childish snigger, before I peer into the hallway. Opal Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Is sits there on the small couch, smiling and talking to Crystal. When she notices me, her dark brown curls fall from her face, showing off and cropping a new piercing.

"Do you like it, Quartz?" Opal smiles, moving her head back and forth so that the light catches on the stud implanted into her cheek. "Daddy paid for it the other day. Doesn't it look _cool_? I thought that since Floe got it, I would too."

I nod, but it's hard to hold back a sarcastic smirk. "Yes, the lovely Floe did get it done. However, do you _really_ want to be like her? I mean, she's not exactly that fashionable or cool."

Opal's smile is quick to fade, and I'd be lying if I didn't think it made me feel a bit better. "That's true. I just thought it'd be nice."

"If it makes you feel better, stud implants went out of fashion a long time ago. Clearly Floe has been living under a rock and you've decided to move in with her."

It's not hard to see the hurt in Opal's features, but she does her best to hide it, because being friends with me means being friends with the most popular guy in our school. It's better to be miserable in the popular crowd, than to be happy in the outsider crowds. Just the way it is unfortunately.

"Crystal was telling me that you planned on volunteering. Congratulations on that."

I simply smile. "I suppose so. Really, the Capitol should be thankful I'm _planning_ to enter."

"You'll be excellent."

"I know."

We stand in comfortable silence for a moment, Opal letting her eyes drift mindlessly around the room, letting them sometimes land and linger on me, before Crystal rises from her seat, flattening out her dress neatly.

"And you called me pudgy," I raise an eyebrow, a smirk on my lips. "Someone is being rather hypocritical."

Crystal smirks back. "I'm surprised you know such a big word. Here I was thinking you were nothing more than a stereotypical blonde."

"Coming from the natural blonde of the family." I retort.

"So you're admitting that you dyed your hair to join the rest of us? Now who's the sheep."

The whole time, Crystal never lets up her glare, bright blue eyes piercing into my mind. Don't forget poor Opal, snapping her pretty little head between the pair of us with amazement in her eyes and her lips slightly parted. The only thing I can remember about Opal is that she isn't as rich as most, and she has no siblings whatsoever. An only child. I should be so lucky. If Crystal ceased to exist, my life would have been easier. More pressure from father, but overall, no cunning and cruel sister who takes some sickening pleasure in watching me practically get worked to the bone to please someone.

Opal coughs behind a closed fist, dismissing the staring match between me and my sister.

"I was thinking that we could meet everyone else before we get there." Opal says with a smile.

I look to her and then Crystal. "Still want to come with us?"

She doesn't let down her stare, however, and instead just smiles gruesomely. "Most certainly. But, you can walk with your friends if you wish, and I'll just wait until you're taken into the Justice Building to see you."

"How lovely of you," I drawl, walking to the door. "Come on Opal."

And, like a good sheep that she is, she follows her shepard. Outside, just outside my yard, I can see Floe and the other little lackeys that seem determined to follow me. Some I can tolerate, much like Opal. Some I force myself to tolerate for the sake of amusement, like Floe. Others, well, I don't even know their names so it's not like they matter that much. I'm almost pretty sure the group changes on a daily basis anyway. Either that or I've never taken that much notice.

I hear Crystal close the door behind us as I cross the yard.

Floe is the first to notice me, brown eyes swimming. "I'm thinking of volunteering today, Quartz!"

I blink a few times at her statement, the fellow sheep simply giggling in apparent excitement over her statement.

"I think it's a rather stupid idea if you ask me," I say bluntly, eyes locked on Floe's mouth, that goes from a smile to a disappointed frown. "You've never trained in your life. You have _no_ experience whatsoever. Do you have that much of a death wish?"

She has no idea what to say, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I-I-I thought I-I could learn when I get there."

"Then volunteer next year so you won't flounder so pathetically," I scoff. "Wow, Floe, and I thought you were the smartest one out of all of you. You'd be dead not longer after the countdown."

"Quartz is planning on volunteering this year!" Opal suddenly cuts in when it's clear Floe is hurt.

I look at her, smile slightly falling at the possibility of pissing me off, before I look back to Floe, whose frown has crooked into a smile again. I don't really listen to anything she has to say. Her mouth opens and closes as she speaks some sort of encouragement to me, but it's not like I need it. Somewhere behind me, no doubt smirking, is Crystal, loving every second of this. I just force a smile and begin walking down the street, letting the gaggle of girls follow me. I hear one of the girls - whom I don't know - make a remark about who will volunteer alongside me and then, who might challenge me for my spot.

I never thought about that. Another boy trying to steal the spot away from me. What will I do then? This is my last year. My _last_ chance. Years of training and being slapped or punched or kicked when I wasn't good enough has built up for this very moment. These girls have made my worse fears more of a reality in the span of a few minutes. What if I don't make it? What if, at the last second, someone beats me? That's it. Everything that I've lived for would have been gone. Everything that has ever made me important to my father would have been pointless. He's only ever cared for me as long as I could train and then eventually volunteer. If I can't do that, the caring, the importance in his life and my only shot to make him proud... Gone forever.

I'll be out on the streets, on my own, abandoned and homeless. Might as well call myself an orphan.

I can't think like that. _I just can't_.

A part of me strives to make him proud. The other part reminds me that I'm human, flawed, and he'll have to learn to accept that. But, with the way it works, the part that strives to make him proud needs to dominate to survive.

No-one will ever know that, though. I know I'm flawed. But as long as I live, I will always be perfection in everyone else's eyes.

The road that leads to the Justice Building comes into view. It's one of the most magnificent streets in the whole of One, gold stars embedded into the floor for the Victors we've created so far. Only three names; Spark, Crash and Glitter, and soon, another star with my name, Quartz. None of the other mentors are anything special. I mean, sure, they won, but when you're going against little children from famine-stricken districts that can barely hold themselves up, it's not much of a contest.

I can see the girls and boys, all hopeful, some even bored, lining up and allowing their blood to be taken by a Peacekeeper dressed in bleach white.

I stop when I'm near the line, turning around to all the girls that follow me. Floe and Opal gush once more over my decision - all the time I graciously nod and smirk back at them - before them and the rest of the brainless sheep trot off to their own line. Crystal stays put, staring at me, focusing those cold eyes onto mine.

"Have fun. I'll be watching, baby brother." she says bluntly, before she walks off, not allowing me to reply.

I join the line, a large, muscular boy in front of me. The queue goes down and down, until I reach the female Peacekeeper waiting, needle in hand and book opened. I hold out my hand, trying my hardest to not roll my eyes. The prick hurts for a moment, my finger stamped down onto the book.

I walk away to go and join my section with the other eighteen year olds.

None of them are that familiar. None of them stand out. None of them would last a minute in the arena and the Capitol. It would devour them alive.

When all the children are accounted for, the escort, Venus Zalarez, patters out onto the stage in rather large, bright green heels that only make her look incredibly awkward and lanky. Green is her favourite colour, apparently, since that is all she wears. A green dress. A green, curly wig, cause let's face it, she's old, that _so_ isn't her real hair. I'm almost surprised her skin is a nasty shade of orange and not her trademark slime.

"Welcome! Welcome! Before we begin, we have a special film brought to you all the way from the Capitol." Venus shrills.

The wave of static rocks, before the apparent disastrous scene appears.

"War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen Districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained."

The boy next to me glares, looking down on me like I'm below his shoe. It stirs an anger in me. That is the same look my father gives me every time I have to grace his presence.

"And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. The people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost and the traitors were defeated. We swore as a nation we would never know this treason again."

I won't have to look at him again. If I die, it's over. If I win, the more realistic option, then I can finally get away from the awful man. He doesn't know that's my plan when I win. I'll get that respect from him, sure, but with the money and a home, it won't matter too much. It'll be around but I won't have to worry about ever letting him down or tripping up; I'll be my own person.

"And so it was decreed, that each year, the various Districts of Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice."

Honor, courage and sacrifice. Something he reminds me I lack. Something I'm told I must bring since Crystal and her beauty has already been brought to the household.

"The lone victor bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."

Those riches will be mine. And then, I can be free.

Venus makes her way to the female's bowl, chirping something about picking the female tribute. They won't get the chance. A volunteer will happen, because even though it's only been around for 13 years now, a volunteer is a certain in a Career-orientated district. I should know since it has been drilled into my skull that I shall be one, too.

The moment Venus raises the fine, white piece of paper in front of her face, the crowd goes quietly. Eyes all around me begin darting into a certain direction, and I can't help but become the sheep for the first time and follow. I can barely see anything except for a stunning blonde stood in the middle of the aisle, and even then, most of her body and face is shrouded by the boys around me. She's almost set to be the volunteer, walking forward calmly, until another girl pounces out of nowhere like an animal and forces her to the ground.

So, she's my district partner instead.

But the blonde doesn't give up, and after a while, she manages to take the feral girl to the floor instead and stands up.

Venus complains about rushing things up, and the girl makes her way to the stage.

When I can see her properly, I'm shocked at who it is. Allure Medina. I know her, of course I knew her, she goes to my school. I've never spoke to her, but Allure always seems to radiate a sense of beauty and superiority wherever she goes. That is someone I never expected to actually risk her life and dignity.

After Venus forces her to say the fateful words and her name, the crowd begins to clap and get louder and louder, almost chanting and banging on their Neanderthal drums like the tribal people that they are.

When Venus makes her way to the boy's bowl, I can feel the cold fingers of pressure scratching into my heart. My eyes quickly glance at Crystal, who not surprisingly, is staring deep into a perfectly manicured nail, ignoring me altogether. Father would kill her if he knew. But, then again, why kill the daughter that will surely increase his business? No. Lets just let the boy die instead, since we can't marry him off.

"Now for the boys," Venus drawls, and time slows down as she grabs a slip, bringing it to her face once more and walking to the middle. "Agate-"

The boy next to me, the one who reminds me of my father, is quick to thrust his hand into the air the moment the slip is peeled open by Venus' claw-like nails. This isn't going to happen. I can almost sense my father waiting, expecting Crystal to come back and tell me that Quartz chickened out. He'd be angry. He'd punch me and kick me, beat my face in until I'm bleeding from every possible outlet if I ever crawled home.

Of course, I'll have to go home. I wouldn't make it on my own without money or anything.

He'll call me a disgrace. A _plague_ upon the Van Puten name.

My hands jolt out as hard as they can, catching the boy off-guard and knocking him to the ground. Everyone around me begins to look my way, and as the boy twists over on the ground to fight back, I lean down and grab him by the collar, threatening him with my eyes. When I can sense he won't try again, I crack my neck and stand tall.

"I volunteer!"

I can't fight the grin that evades my lips. The moment of pure adrenaline rides through my body. I turn around to face Crystal, seeing her hardened face staring back at mine. She does nothing but nod, watching me as I stride to the stage. When I get up there, I snatch the microphone from Venus' hands, taking the moment that is so rightfully mine.

"My name is Quartz Van Puten, and I will have the honor of representing District One in the 14th annual Hunger Games."

I hand the microphone back to Venus, who gestures for Allure to come over to me. When she's near me, I can once more feel that radiating power that she lets off.

"Here we are, District One, your tributes Allure Medina and Quartz Van Puten. The two of you, shake hands."

I take charge, turning to Allure first, only to find her staring at me already. I watch her eyes travel my body before she looks back at me and giggles. Somehow, even though I am not interested in her, I lap up the attention, throwing a wink her way, extending my hand.

Instead, though, she pushes my hand away and wraps both arms around me.

"I can tell we're going to get along just fine."

Somehow, I believe it, but I'd never admit just yet. "We'll see about that."

After that, most of it is a blur. Venus retches Allure off of me, raises our hands and declares us as tributes, gaining another around of applause.

Me and Allure are then led into the Justice Building, where we're separated, pushed into different rooms to say our three minute goodbyes. I wait patiently in the dust-filled room, waiting for the people that apparently mean everything to me and are just waiting to tear up and love me for a long time whilst I'm gone.

The door swings open, revealing Opal.

I shouldn't be surprised. The little sheep.

"Well done to you," Opal cheers, walking across the room hastily and throwing her arms around me, much like Allure. "You did everyone so proud. I'm so proud to call you my friend, Quartz, and I know you are going to win this! Of course you are. Allure has nothing on you!"

I don't respond her hug, but I pat her on the bag to get off me.

"Firstly, thank you for all that, it was touching," I place a hand to my heart sarcastically. "Secondly, we aren't really friends, Opal, you just follow me. But again, thank you."

Before Opal has anything to say, I begin pushing her towards the door until she's out of it. I slam it shut, trying hard to hold my emotions together. I don't know why it bothered me so much from what she did, but it did. She was lucky I didn't swing for her at all. I did everyone proud? Who is _everyone_? The family itching to get rid of me unless I make them proud? A sister who despises me and yet tells me to win? Friends who aren't friends? A girl who I don't even know who hugs me?

The door opens again, revealing Crystal.

"So, you aren't a total moron I see. You picked the right choice."

She flips a piece of blonde hair as she sits down on the couch. My parents won't come. Father's at work and mother, well, the dormouse that she is, she won't bother either, probably on the floor at home scrubbing away.

"Oh, thank you too," I reply mockingly. "Everyone seems to be _ecstatic_ about _my_ choice."

"Yeah, your choice. I can tell you're really happy that it was _your_ choice."

"I am happy. I am over the moon, actually, but yet, everyone else is happy? I'm doing this for me, not any of you."

"You're doing this for father," Crystal smirks. "You know you are. You think you're doing this for yourself, but you're not. You don't want to be disowned Quartz. You want to make him proud."

"I'm doing this for myself," I say through gritted teeth. "Myself. Me. Moi. When I win, which is inevitable, I can get away from all of you, and then, who will I need to satisfy when I live alone? But he doesn't know that. He thinks he's almighty by forcing his son into the Games, but when I return, I'll walk away. Walk away with my riches and power and then he'll feel _stupid_."

Crystal stays quiet for a moment before she stands, completely disregarding my outburst at her. "You will always be trying to live up to someone's expectations, Quartz, no matter how much you hide it behind your asshole shell. But good luck. Believe it or not, I _don't_ want you dead. I'm _not_ as heartless as you clearly think I am."

I'm left stunned, stood there as Crystal walks to the door, opening it painstakingly slow, waiting for a reply that will never come. That hangs from my lips but will never be spilled. That can't be spilled, no matter how much I want to.

"I love you, buffoon."

And then, she's gone.

* * *

I get shuffled out the door after my three minutes are up. After forcing Opal out and then Crystal abandoning me, the only other person to turn up was one of the sheep, whom I can't remember, that kissed me on the cheek and ran her nimble fingers down my arm. Who does she think she's kidding?

After a while, Allure is brought out of her room, where she quickly smiles at me. I see it out the corner of my eye, and a part of me wants to smile back, but how do I know I can trust her? She thinks we might get on. She might be right. If I had to have any real friends, I would choose someone like Allure, just because she's like me; beautiful, elegant and superior. But, in her eyes, she holds something that keeps her human, again, just like me.

Allure is interesting. _Very_ interesting.

She's far less vapid than the sheep. From first appearances, I can already tell there's more to her than just her looks. I've always been a great judge of character - I've _never_ been wrong.

We begin to walk towards the train station, me and Allure side by side, Venus behind us, claws digging into our shoulders to keep us moving.

We volunteered for this. It's not like we're going to run away anytime soon.

The fresh air hits me when we get outside.

And for once, I don't feel the pressure on my shoulders anymore. I finally feel free.

I can almost feel the sigh of relief my father will shed when Crystal tells him I did it. The murderous thoughts on his mind that I'll either come back with all that money and fame, apparently for him, or that I'll die and he won't have to worry about me not meeting _his_ potential. He won't realise that if I come back, he'll get nothing. I'll get that small moment of approval I've always craved for, my main driving crusade for training, but then I'll leave and never have to worry about disappointing him again.

Yet, Crystal's words dance on my mind.

"_You think you're doing this for yourself, but you're not. You don't want to be disowned Quartz. You want to make him proud._"

Is she right? Am I doing all this to just make him proud? No matter how much I shroud it, is that the real reason why I'm going to risk my life?

No.

I'm doing this for _myself_.

I'm doing this to save _myself_.

And as long as I keep reminding myself that, I can do this. I will do this. Quartz Van Puten will win...

Because I'm better than you.

* * *

**As a last little note from me, I am sure not only myself but all the authors would appreciate reviews from people other than those involved with Fourteen. So please leave your comments, it means a lot! ;) Updates are Tuesday's, Thursday's and Saturday's! Thanks for reading!**


	2. District Two Reapings

**A/N- **As promised here is District Two. The schedule should be kept to unless there is a reason which I'll let you all know when I do update so you know why the update was late. Not much too really say, no big announcements. Just thanks to everyone that has supported this so far and enjoy District Two! :D

* * *

**Cassiterite Vellemptuai, District Two Female**

_**SafeEyesOpen**_

* * *

All I can feel is pressure, and an overwhelming feeling that needs to decide now, _right_ now, if I should give in, or not. As my friend Caramine holds out the cup filled with beer saying something I can't hear over the loud noises and music blaring everywhere I think, what am I _doing? _It's the night before the reaping, meaning tomorrow will be the most important day of my life. The day I volunteer for The Hunger Games and become a hero, a savior, in my district. I can't afford to be nursing a hangover, especially not now.

I look back at her, her deep brown eyes glazed over with drink as her pathetic state causes her to drop the cup in her hands. She laughs hysterically and then sways some more. I haven't taken one sip, and the feeling in my hands, the craving to have just _one_ cup, comes over my senses, and with that I can't take it.

I need it, I need that one hit.

I make my way over to the table filled with the keg, and miserably take a cup, filling it with the creamy substance and downing the whole thing in under a minute. A boy near me looks at me eyeing me up and down, and in my state I think, _Hey, why not live before my life changes forever. _I make my way over, my deep purple, sequined mini-dress sparkling as I near the boy. His eyes light up at my appearance and I smirk inwardly, knowing I'm far from a mans disappointment.

I've got a goddesses hair, with alternating shades of dark brown and bronze that fades as it goes down, but gradually takes over at the tips, falling to my lower back. I'm a good height reaching 5"8, and not to mention thin, tan, and lush. I've got a good body, complete with curves and a chest, but my eyes are probably my most striking feature. There deep, twinkling, Cassiterite blue; the stone I was named for. So, as I stand before the boy who stared at me, his green eyes popping, I know I'll get anything my heart desires from him. Some call it conceded. I call it confidence.

"Hey." He says, his blonde hairs falling in his face, a crooked smile on his lips. "Hey." I say back, batting my eyelashes as I go. It'll be great practice for the Capitol audience and I feel like laughing at the boyish grin that comes across his face. "I'm Aiden." He says, expecting me to say my name back. "And I'm Cassiterite, as far as you know." I reply, winking at him, daring him to question me.

And he doesn't. He seems content that I've been interested long enough to tell him my name. "Would you like to dance?" He asks me, looking hopeful. "Alrighty, if you can keep up." I tell him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the dance floor. I'm at a party at my friend Sage's house, who is currently in a corner with some guy she doesn't know.

I'm not surprised though, she always is. Sage is a bit of a slut but I love her all the same. Only her and seven others. It's not like she wants to be, but she must. She's got a complicated life; and she's simply misunderstood.

She only threw this party to one, show up her step-mother, who acts as though she holds the reins in Sage's life, two, to party, dance, and dress up, and three, to celebrate the Hunger Games coming, assuming we would have yet another victor. She knows I'll be volunteering, as does everyone else, so I don't know why she had to pressure me into drinking. In all honestly, I'd rather be in the training center but I agreed because she went through a lot of effort to make it all come together. Not to mention the fact that it's closed.

As I lead Aiden to the center of Sage's enormous house, I hear hoots and whistles all over. It's not like I've never been with anyone, because that's a false statement. But I'm not easy, so the fact that I picked someone at random is a bit surprising to everyone, even myself.

Finally, we're there, and under the lights and ignoring the sounds around me, I see Aiden, in full, and he's definitely not ugly. He's tall, about 6"1, and strong, you can tell. I think that he looks about seventeen, my age, so if he plans on volunteering, it'll be next year, when the boys think their at their _best_. Or whatever it is they call it. Aiden has pale blonde hair that falls into a pair of green eyes, with spots of brown inside. An infamous crooked smile with a left dimple sums him up into one neat, handsome package. I'm honestly surprised he hadn't _already _been dancing with someone; he sure looks good enough.

As we step to the middle of the floor the fast paced music floods my ears. Aiden seems to be a bit hesitant to put his hands around my waist so I put an end to it, wrapping my arms around his neck, looking up at him. By the way his face lights up I have no doubt my eyes are twinkling in the lights. He smiles that cute smile, and wraps his arms around my waist, slowly pulling me forward.

"So, Aiden," I start to say, over the noise of the party, "How are you liking the party?" He looks down as I bat my eyelashes, and says, "Well, it recently got _a lot_ better." I see him smile again after saying so. I think it's nice. He's not like the usual asshole you'd find at a party, he's sweet and genuine, or at least that's what he's trying to convince me he is.

We dance for a while, maybe half and hour or so, keeping up a conversation about basic things like our training, what he does, what I do, etcetera. It's been a nice, easy conversation and I've decided to takes things up a bit, for practice.

Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.

As the lights start to dim, the music picking up pace, I look up at Aiden expectantly, blinking, and eyeing his lips. If I can make obvious signals and flirtatious gestures here, then I'm sure the Capitol will fall for me. Teasing me, he asks, "Something you want?" A smirk playing on his lips. I laugh, knowing two can play at this game. "No, I guess not." I say, cocking my head to the side.

He bends his head down towards me, and whispers by my ear, his warm breathe tickling the hairs on my neck. "Well, that's too bad…" He starts, trailing off seductively, "Because it seems I've already gotten you." Then, he pulls back, looks right into my eyes, and leans into me.

His lips brush softly against mine, slowly, at first, sweet and passionate. His lips are soft and warm, radiating heat against mine, as he kisses me. It feels good, so, _so_ good, and I don't want him to stop. Then, it speeds up, and the kiss becomes more rushed. I free one of my hands, using it to run through his hair. It's soft, like fur in a winter coat. Some of the people around us whistle at the make-out session going on in the middle of the party, so I pull away, caring about opinions for once; something completely out of my nature.

Something is seriously wrong here. It's the night before the most important day of my life and I'm drinking, partying, and making out with a cute guy I don't even _know_. I'm being so careless, so reckless, but it seems so right seeing I've hardly lived. Sure, I've dated plenty of guys, and had my fair share of so called _love_, but it seems like it's been nothing. So much training, so much pressure to be perfect, to _win_, and I'm wasting it all here? No, I'm not wasting, I'm living. I'm still young, and I deserve to live a little before I go off into a death game where I'll be the only one resurfacing.

So, with this in mind, I take my hands, unwrapping them from Aiden's neck and looking up at him. "Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private, hmm?" I ask him, my intentions clear. Or so he thinks. I haven't decided whether or not to sleep with him, but I'll surely make out with him again. He nods, dropping his grip on my small waist. I take his one of his freed hands, and lead him through the crowd of loud, drunk people. I pass through about four rooms until I reach what I'm looking for, glass doors leading onto a huge balcony outside.

I open the door, the cool air rushing in, and pull Aiden in with me. I close the door slowly, the sounds of the house becoming less evident. I turn back, seeing the mountains surrounding me, and the cool breeze leaves goose bumps on my bare skin. Aiden notices, and offers me his jacket, which I accept. Quite a gentleman, I think, so I pull him over to the couch and chairs around the corner, out of everyone's view. I sit down, and pull him with me, holding onto his hand still. It's soft and warm, just like his lips were.

I lean back into the plush couch and Aiden does the same. I kick off my heels and put my bare feet onto the table. Aiden chuckles, and I look at him, smiling myself. "What's so funny?" I say, the smile still spread across my face. "Nothing, it's just…" He starts, laughing, "You're shivering, but you put your bare feet on an icy table." He finishes, shaking his head with laughter. I join him, laughing at myself. "Leave me alone." I say, joking, knowing I truly don't want him to go.

His laughter fades, and now it's just us, and the wind blowing around. I look over at him, his green eyes open and wide; not drunk at all. "How do you do it?" I ask him, suddenly curious as to how he can not drink at all while he's at a party like this. "Do what?" He asks, confused. "How can you come here and not drink anything?" I ask. "Not bad, I just want to learn how I can do it." I say, reassuring him.

He looks back, humored by my question, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Just ignore them." He says simply, as if it's so easy. "But, their so…demanding. " I tell him, but that's not what I'm really thinking. _It's because I can't let them know my secrets. _I think to myself and then confide, "It's as if…I'll never, _truly_ be good enough for them." I say the last sentence in only a whisper. He looks at me, and whispers back, "I think it's _them_ who will never be good enough for _you_." I look at him, knowing that is truly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. It's always push harder, do better, learn this, memorize that, and on and on and on. But finally, someone thinks it's them who need to catch up.

"Thank you." I whisper, my eyes wide and pure. I scoot closer to him, and lay my head on his shoulder. He looks down and then puts his arm around me. I sit there for a moment, but the new come feeling of _want_, is overpowering, and I know this will not be enough to satisfy me. I gaze up at him, and wrap my arms around his neck again, scooting as close to his warm body as I can. His free hand lies on my thigh, and the spot where he sits it floods with warmth as his other hand goes to my waist, pulling me towards him.

I'm neck and neck with him, our lips only inches apart, and this time it's me who leans in.

This kiss is completely different, and it's rather full, and rushed. Aiden pulls me into his lap, holding my legs and back in one hand, and holding my head, his fingers laced in my hair, with the other. My arms are still locked around his neck, and my hair is now a mess. The kiss is intense, but I'm still honestly not sure what I'm doing as my lips move.

To do it, or not? If I stay, I'll be held over here all night, to face my neighbors, friends, and fellow trainees. I'd look pretty pathetic, coming home looking like a mop, my hair a mess, my clothes messed up, running up a mountain in a sequined mini dress. I really don't even remember ever getting this dress, or seeing it, so it's probably something of my mothers, for her Capitol trips, which reminds me of the other consequence.

My mothers not home, but my step-father is.

If I go back, alone, on a dark empty night, he'll try something as he always does. But he's bigger than me so there would be no way to save myself, and no one would hear me.

No one.

_But what about the reaping? _My mind demands from me and with that, I pull away and sigh, frustrated.

"What's wrong?" Aiden asks, thinking it's him. "It's just, I have a reaping tomorrow…" I say, drifting off at the end. "Wait, did you think that I wanted to…" Aiden says, blushing aimlessly. I blush right back, and we both end up bursting out laughing. "Look, it's not that you're not gorgeous, because you are, it's just I'm here for more of a good night. A good make-outs all I need." He says, a smile on his face as he shakes his head. "Oh thank goodness; that's the same for me." I tell him, smiling back.

Aiden leans his head back into the couch, and I feel slightly awkward that I can't, seeing I'm on his lap. Instead, I lean back, breathing out as my head hits the seat and my hair falls around my face. "So, what's so important about the reaping?" Aiden asks. "Someone you know volunteering?" He says, continuing. "Yes, me." I say, confiding in him, though I'm really not. Practically the whole district knows I will be but most people probably think that I would wait the extra year; build up more stamina.

They just wouldn't understand why to go early. But of course, the only thing they seem to understand is weapons, training, survival, games, games, and more and more _games_. They don't think about anyone's lives _outside _of training, or how bad they may be. Mines not a sob story, and some people would probably say that I'm a bit snobby to complain about my life. But they don't know. None of them do.

I don't have a father. I did, but he decided to knock up my mother at seventeen and so he was removed from the district, seeing that the man is the guilty party in pregnancy so young. He was sent out to some other district, and mother says that he's probably dead of starvation. I wouldn't be surprised, he sounds like a coward. Life was fine for us until she married him. My step-father. They work together, creating medicine for the Capitol, and so with mother gone all the time and me young and beautiful, he tries things; drunken state and all. It's not only pathetic, but incredibly demeaning, in the ways of my integrity.

"Why so early?" He asks, as if reading my mind. I smile slightly at my correct prediction, and then say, "It's complicated." I look back up at the stars, and see in the corner of my eye that Aiden is staring at me. "I got time." He offers, genuinely curious. I sigh, and tell him, "I don't, it's pretty long." I close my eyes, and let out an uneasy laugh, knowing the truth is pretty bad. I truly _want_ to tell someone though, but not a stranger who could exploit me. Though Aiden seems trustable, you never know. Never trust people, because that's how you get hurt.

"I wonder what time it is." I say, thinking aloud. "It's about…" Aide starts to say, moving his arm from under me to check his watch. "It's almost two in the morning." He says, and I mutter, "Great." He looks at me, chuckling, and says, "You got somewhere to be?" With a smile on his lips. "Yup, home." I tell him, and he looks at me sadly.

"You really have to go?" He asks, and I can hear the actual sadness in his voice. "Sadly, I do." I say back, sitting up. As I go to swing my feet up, Aiden puts him arm over them, holding me there. I look up at him, and he smiles. "Did you expect me to let you go without a goodbye kiss?" He says, teasingly. He then leans in, and kisses me for a minute, knowing I won't pull away.

A little trick of his own, and a good one at that.

Of course, he gets the wanted response, and I sit there, my arms around his neck, and kiss him for a moment. Finally, he pulls away, letting me free. I immediately go to close the space but he holds his finger up my lips, laughing. "Now get on home, young lady." He says, letting me go. "I'm afraid I'll need an escort." I tell him, a smirk on my lips. "Sounds good." He says, jumping up eagerly. I slide my shoes back on and link my arm with Aiden's. We then walk back into the loud, packed house.

The party is still going strong, and as I try to get through the crowd I see Aiden is helping me, shoving all the guys out of my way. I smile to myself, inwardly laughing, and finally we reach the front door, and a drunken Aqua, a girl who is known for her hilarious outburst and actions at parties like these. She sways from her drink, her blonde strands falling into her icy eyes. "Hey…..guys!" She squeals, giggling to herself. "Leaving so soon?" She asks, and then bends over, vomiting her drink all over the floor.

I burst out laughing alongside Aiden, and we run out the door, slightly disgusted by her. As we run down the street shamelessly, Aiden is as joyed as a little kid locked in the districts candy store. His eyes light up his features and his smile spreads across his whole face.

I feel…free. Alive; like I have something to live for. We laugh as we run up the mountainside street, and the cool air is biting at my chilled skin. I'm still wearing Aiden's jacket, but my legs have skin too, and as the Goosebumps rise and my teeth start to chatter, Aiden scoops me up, laughing, as if I weigh no more than the feathers that fall from the birds here.

I laugh, surprised, screaming joyfully like a little girl, and the moment just feels so good. I scramble in his arms, kicking my feet and yelling as I laugh, until finally he puts me down, doubled over in laughter of his own. As I finally catch my breath, still smiling, I look back up at Aiden. "This was so fun!" I gush, not caring how juvenile I must look. He smiles back, and says, "I know." We walk together up the mountainside to the house that practically everyone in the district knows _I _live in. From the awards and the people to the deliveries that come here, everyone is aware where I live.

As we walk, the first snow flurries of the year begin to blow by and I see that almost all the houses are dark, one by one, as they go by blankly. "So, the Hunger Games tomorrow, huh?" He asks, touching the one topic I preferred not to talk about. "Yeah." I tell him simply, with no explanation. "Why so early?" He asks, an irritated tone creeping up into his voice. "Because I can? My life is not perfect you know. That's _exactly _it. You don't know, but there's a reason. Don't bother asking, because I'm not telling." I spit back, suddenly angered by his tone, and for making me think about it once more.

I _hate_ thinking about it. Success is only my reward; never will it be my step-fathers.

They all think I'm not good enough. They all think that just because she's pretty, doesn't mean that she's pretty enough, let alone strong and independent enough to win. They think she'll fail because she's always had almost all she's ever wanted. She won't be able to take on the _real_ world.

That's shit.

What do they, the most pampered district citizens, know about _real_? Their reality is that it's oh-so glorious to be going into the games, making a monster of yourself, just for some fame and money. I will not let that be me. I won't be a monster, no, not completely. I still have my dignity, and as long as I'm in that damned crazy arena, I'll hold tight to it; like a lifeline. I won't be that crazy girl. I'll be that incredible girl, who made it so far without needing anyone's approval.

"Sorry, sorry…" Aiden mutters back to me, and then he tries to lighten up the mood. "Want to be a kid again?" He asks quietly, in a whisper. "Okay." I say, whispering back, though I'm not sure why. "Let's play hide and seek. If I find you before you get to your house, I won't ask any questions. If I do, you have to explain it to me. Deal?" He asks, daring me to refuse with the teasing look in his eyes. "Any rules?" I ask back, genuinely interested in playing. "Just one. You can't run straight there until I'm done counting. Understood?" He says, his eyes playful, thinking he'll be able to outrun me.

He's dead wrong though.

"Alright…deal." I tell him, a smirk on my lips. "I'm counting to thirty, run little girl." He whispers by my ear, covering his eyes. And with that, I don't hesitate. My feet make gravel as I take soundless strides to the trees lining the winding path, leaving him with no clue of my whereabouts but the breathe of wind that hits him as I run by.

As I maneuver in and out trees, sliding up a particularly lean one, I know he's wandering about for me, and as I get up the trees, seeing how they link to one another, I swing from branch to branch silently and effortlessly. It's like flying in a way, and as the wind blows by, freezing my legs, I don't care, because I'm already winning, and it's simply another step towards my overall victory.

I finally slip out, fading into the green that lines each side of the road, but not in the trees any longer. My feet run aimlessly up the winding path, and as my hair slashes through the air with the speed I'm going at, I jerk my head side to side, wondering, _Where is he? _It's impossible of him to think I would just stay hidden; he knows I would be on the move. So where is he? Then I think, _Forget it, you're winning idiot. Just go. _

Finally, I'm going up the mountain, and I see I'm almost there, and decide I might as well make my position obvious. I want a challenge, I mean, what's the point in winning without one? That's not winning with skill, that's winning by default. I see my neighbor with his house lights on and bright and I decide this is the perfect spot. I start running and screaming, trying to draw attention, but I feel so stupid out here that I start laughing hysterically. The laughs lead to tears and then I realize I need to _go_, now.

And with that, I'm making gravel again.

Now I see him, wondering the border of my neighbors' houses, just waiting for me to make a move, to try and dart in there. I slide back into the now familiar trees and circle my perimeter.

What am I doing? Something fun, that's what. I was never much of a kid, always to smart, always training, always _trying_, and simply trying to the best. And now, I am. As I twirl around in the trees, I realize it's gotten very quiet. Almost eerie, to be honest. I look around, lost in the dark, and realize that's what I really am. Lost.

I'm surrounded by trees, plants, and the dim lit moon, but that's about it. The sky is dark and misty, like something in the horror stories I would listen to as a child. Now, every little noise sounds loud. I push through some trees, thinking, _Maybe you just took a wrong turn, and the trees are right there. _But as I push through it all I see I'm being led even deeper into darkness.

Now I'm kind of scared. I can't afford to get lost here, no, not now. I frantically try going back to where I was and find myself even more confused. The darkness seems to get deeper, and with my vision fading it feels like I'm a black and white photo. I close my eyes to think, and before I know it a set of hands are grabbing my arms and pulling me out. I swallow my scream as I see it's just Aiden, who must've seen me run in here, and came following.

After about ten minutes, I'm out, and he looks me in the eyes. "I win." He whispers, smirking again. "Oh have you?" I say, inconspicuously slipping out of his grasp. "But if I remember…" I say, sliding my finger up his neck flirtatiously, "This game has a base, and all I have to do is get to it." With that, I dart away as fast as my legs can go to reach the front door of the house just a half mile from me. I will win. I have too. I'm a winner, and that's what winners do.

The black of the road, covered in brown dirt, is all I see as I run, seeing it's the only thing to keep me from looking behind me tauntingly. If I look back, I'll slow down, and I can't do that. I will _not _let Aiden beat me at his own game.

This feeling is so…free. Open. _Fun. _I haven't just slacked off like this in years, and it feels good. It's fun and exhausting, which makes me feel even more like a child. I start to laugh as I hear Aiden yell, "Hey! That's not fair!" But even he's laughing, and I just _know_ I'll win.

As I finally see the house, the stony front and all, my smile gets bigger and somehow my feet go faster than they were already going. As I turn, I can see Aiden's smile falter a bit that he's losing and then god damn it, I don't know _how_ I do it, but I _trip_.

What, the, hell.

With that, one of my feet slips, but I'm too quick to let anything happen, so I bend, and flip myself backwards with my wrist. It stings a little, but that doesn't matter. You have to go through the rain for a rainbow.

Aiden just yells back, "Does anything get by you?" And I yell back, "You wish!" I'm literately less than a hundred yards away now, and the amazing feeling of _winning_ floods through my body. I let out a laugh of joy as my hand hits the front door, and then I turn back to Aiden, electrified. "I won!" I tell him, a smirk spread across my lips. "No questions for you." I tell him, tauntingly.

"Fine, fine. I did agree." He says back, still smiling. "Well, it is like, three in the morning, so I should probably go inside now." I tell him, tilting my head as I lean against the door frame. Just as my fingers move for the doorknob, I'm suddenly jerked off of it and into Aiden's arms as he hugs my tightly, though I don't know why. I strangely hug him back, and then sigh in comfort at his warmth. That reminds me, I have his jacket. I pull back, slide it off my arms, and hand it to him, saying "Thanks." He nods, and says, "I'll be rooting for you." I smile back at his now crooked smile and thank him. "And I'll deliver. I promise." I tell him, knowing I'll be crowned the victor.

"I know you will." He says, beaming. I smile back, and then go inside, but not before planting a quick peck on his lips. As I shut the door behind me, I look in the mirror on the wall by the door, and see that my hair is an absolute, atrocious, mess. I groan before I remember that my step father is here, and then I slide off my heels and hold them in my hands as I quickly go up the winding staircase to my room. Finally, I'm standing in front of the sleek, white door and I unlock it quickly with a key I had hidden in the frames design. I go in quickly, shut the door, lock it, and breathe a sigh of relief as I fall onto my bed tossing the heels somewhere.

The bed is made of a soft, grey, Cashmere material, and is all perfectly lined up with no wrinkles anywhere on the cover. Until now, anyways. My beds pretty big, and the top and bottom of the frame curl out elegantly. I get up and sit down on the footer and the end, and remove the earrings and necklace I wore tonight. I tuck them into my vanity quickly, tilting the mirrors into proportion as I do.

As my feet step on the soft carpet of my closet, in stark contrast to the wood around my room, I unzip my dress and step out of it letting it lay crumpled on the floor. I instead pick up a giant tee shirt with a diamond on the front and slide it over my slim body effortlessly. Little to mention that it's torn been burned. I told my mother never to bring District One here; but she did, and so the poor fabric payed the price. I only sleep in it to bother her and I know she'll be here in the morning.

I now realize how tired I am. I step over to my bed, lie down, and pull the cover over me. Tomorrows my day, but really, it's today just in a few hours. With the thought of the reaping in mind I slip off into a dreamland of my next few weeks.

* * *

When I wake up, I see the clock reads nine AM. I blink my eyes awake and swing my legs over the side of the bed, staring at my feet on the floor. When I'm confident I'm up, I stand and walk over to my closet, preparing to slip on my training uniform. It basically consists of black shorts and a tight red tee shirt that's back reads _Vellemptuai _in black cursive letters. I find some solid black sneakers and slide them on, tying the black laces as well. I walk out and stand before my dresser, grabbing the old, silver, brush and yanking it through my straight hair. Once I'm satisfied, I pull it up high and tie it a bit to the left, letting it swish as I drop my hands.

I step away and look in the full sized mirror, my eyes sparkling bright and blue. I blink off the glitter from last night before unlocking my door and stepping down the stairs two at a time. I reach the front door and step out easily as I begin my run down the mountain.

When I first started doing this, it would wind me down, but as I became used to it, it didn't bother me until I reached just before the training center, at which point I would walk. As I go down, I close my eyes and absorb the cool breeze and bright sun of a summer in the mountains. My neighbors' houses blur together until I see a boy my age running out of his house, and I make it my goal to beat him. I speed up and run by him, smirking inwardly, all while looking seemingly innocent on the surface.

After about fifteen minutes, I'm down to the real road, and I take a few turns and curves before finally stopping in front of the sidewalk leading to the training center. I walk up it, feeling like royalty as the other trainees stare. They district knows I'm volunteering, but I also hope they know if anyone else tries I'll break them to the ground. I enter through the clear glass doors and make my way over to the spear throwing section, where I see my trainer, Aieliah. She smiles at me just like she had the first day I'd thrown for her, over with the knives. I told her I didn't want to pursue it, but that was a lie, a well-played one.

What she doesn't know is that I do. I do. Every day, I train myself based on spear training, another perfected skill. I'm in a special part of the academy, one for the best and brightest, and they know I'm talented. Just not with knives. What they don't know is that it is probably the most deadly weapon in the center for me, and that I could end them, all of them, with it.

But that's not a secret to share quite yet.

She goes on about how I'll be great and do you remember this and that but I'm too busy looking at the fifteen year old blonde who is pointing at me with a distasteful look on her face. I drop my spear and walk up to her.

Her expression falters when she sees me, the trainee prodigy destined to win the games, hovering over her pathetic frame. That's probably because she's like District One, a blonde ditz. Nothing compared to me, a ruthless District Two queen, who will be your worst nightmare. "Reason your pointing?" I ask her, my eyes narrowed. "No-nothing." She stutters. I'm enjoying this. "Really. So, are you having muscles spasms or something? Because I know, and you know, that you were pointing." I tell her, my eyes wide, eyebrows lifted, yet beautiful all the same. "I-" She starts, but I cut her off. "You should go the nurse, your trainer won't be happy to hear." I tell her, pointing my slender finger in the direction of the office. She goes without a word, knowing I could take her on at anything. No one messes with Cassiterite. Ever.

I go back over to my trainer and we decide to go over survival skills instead, and I take a bunch of plant and fire test. After about an hour, I take my cue to leave. "Hey, look, as much as I'd _love_ to sit here and destroy these dummies, I have a reaping to prepare for." I tell her, shifting my shoulders with a sly smile. "You better go, look your best for today." She says, and with that I nod accepting her hug, something I usually wouldn't do.

"Good luck." She whispers in my ear before letting me go, and with that I shake out uncomfortably and jog towards the door. I see the girl I sent to the nurse, and yell a quick, "Hope that arm gets fixed!" Before I'm out the door.

I go up the mountain faster this time; because once I get home I'll have exactly an hour and ten minutes to get ready. Once I'm there, I slide in the door and run up the steps, before I realize that my step-fathers boots are by the door, and not my mothers. I stop, hold my breath, and listen. He's home, but where? I sense someone on the top floor, and I quickly run up to my own, the second, before pulling my door shut and locking all three locks.

I sigh out in relief, turning straight into my bathroom. I strip down, kick the training clothes into a basket, and step into the shower, making the water icy cold. Its god awfully horrible, taking a cold shower, but I promised myself the whole time I was in the Capitol I would, just in the case that's what the gamemakers threw at us. I wash my hair and my body quickly, and then I step out onto the mat, grabbing a towel, and wrapping it around myself.

The one good thing about cold showers is how warm you are afterwards.

I rush over to my dresser, pull out some undergarments, and slip them on before rushing over to my closet. My closets quite big, and hidden in the back behind an array of evening dresses is the prize, my reaping outfit. My mother works in the Capitol, and is constantly bringing home magazines and such from there.

So, I personally made a special call for a dress, made up of different pieces from a wide selection. A top from here, the sides from there, the design from this…etcetera. I had to have _this _dress. I need to be better, _different_, than all the other competitors. Who would take me seriously if I appeared like every other District Two girl? I'm not, and I won't be treated like one. Besides, it's Capitol fashion, so the audience will remember me too. They made it, no question, and when it arrived I stashed it somewhere I knew my mother would never look, the place of her old wedding dress. Though she doesn't say it, the way she looks at me says the one thing she won't; she misses him.

I don't look much like her, and I just know my name wasn't her idea, either. No offense to my mother, but I'm pretty sure that with all the drinks, work, and drugs she's done in the Capitol have dropped her IQ to less than a box of blonde One hair, and some days I wonder if she could even spell my name.

Oh well, too bad for her, anyways. I push through the dresses until my fingers graze the silky bag I'm looking for, and I take it off the back wall and pull it towards me. I unzip the bag, dropping it to the floor as I hold the magnificent dress in my hands. It's laced with many intricate patterns, webbed all over, and sexy and formal all the way.

I pull it on, holding the strapless fairy top and angling the edges that curl out. It hugs my body up to about my mid-thighs and shows all my curves. Great for the audience. The top is split in lines, with triangles on each side covered in a fishnet pattern, as with the bottom, and the space between the middle. The plain sides are just a crisp white, as are the flats that go with it, topped with black bows and backed with similar fishnet patterns. I walk over to my mirror, adjusting this and that until I'm satisfied, and I just feel I look beautiful.

My hair falls down my back like a waterfall, in great contrast with the hue of my eyes, and then I remember my token. I run over to my vanity, take out a silver chain and slide on a giant Cassiterite stone. I lock it around my neck and take the cue to make up my face. I line my eyes in a deep black that makes my features pop and don't bother with my eyelashes. They're long enough already.

With that, I step over to my door, unlock it, and start down the stairs. There, I'm greeted, but my blood goes cold.

Him.

"Where you going so early? You have ten minutes." He says, his evil smile reaching his eyes as he takes a step towards me, his drink sloshing in his wine glass. I stare at the floor as I say, "I'm going to the reaping. Please move." He laughs, and my eyes stay frozen as he takes a few more steps. "Come on Cassie, baby, I just-" He starts, as he lays a hand on my wrist and with that I lash out, sending my fist to his face and watching his nose bleed thick crimson onto the marble floor.

"Don't you _ever_ touch me again." I tell him coldly, menacingly, as I run out the door and start to walk down the mountain. I stick into the trees, obstructed from view as I take the winding path and finally I pass a tree and take a pine needle, put it in my dress, and hide it. That way I'll always have a piece of home, and they won't even realize it.

Once I've reached the main road and gone into the square, I resume my flirtatious, confident stride, and check in, cutting all the girls already standing in line. No one questions it though, they know I could slit their pretty little throats. Pretty worthless that is.

I go over to the seventeen year old girls section, accepting all the compliments I receive as I go. "I love your dress!" "Your hair looks gorgeous!" They all gush at me, and I simply smirk back, or smile at a select few. As I stand, I can hear the whispers about my appearance going around, so I decide to be a bit crazy as I yell, "Gee, I wonder if they know I can hear them!" I see people, stare, their cheeks turning red with embarrassment, but I don't care.

Then, the reapings begin. Our Mayor, Mayor Sail, takes the stage. He goes on with Capitol propaganda about the Games and the Dark Days and blah blah blah. I've heard it all before, and I don't need a repeat. It's like a broken record. Then, the moment comes, and he bids us farewell as he hands the microphone to our escort, Glow Graphite. He goes by "Gold," probably due to the fact that it's the color of his skin, eyes, eyelashes, and eyebrows. His hair is a mop of brown hair with red highlights, and I'm guessing that's why there are red jewels all over his golden suit.

"Let's choose this year's tributes!" He yells out cheerfully, and I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. He goes over to the girls bowl, and I flutter my eyes as my knees bend in preparation for what is to come. A bloodbath of sorts; over getting to the stage. He reaches his hand in, grabs a slip, and dashes over to the podium again, as he reads out, "Dakota En-" I don't let him finish before I yell at the top of my lungs, "I volunteer!" I see a few other girl's mouths hanging open before I run as fast I can for that stage to get up the steps. I see an eighteen year old about to pass me, when I yank her back by her blonde locks, and knock her out with a punch to the face. "This isn't District One dear, try harder." I whisper to her as my hand drops her hair to the pavement. I smooth my hair, go up the steps and accept the gracious hand of my impressed escort.

I see the mentors, Rouge and Swash, staring at me in their rocky outfits. And yes, I mean rocky. The man, Swash, wear a grey tux with a tie made of stones. The woman, who looks barely past a teenager, wears a slim fitting business dress with a belt of stones, just like Swash's. I can't really detect any emotion as Glow says, "A volunteer! What's your name dear?" I take his microphone and say, "My name is Cassiterite Vellemptuai, and please never call me 'dear' again." I stare at the camera, my eyes wide, and bat my lashes as a smirk takes over my features. "Let's have a round of applause for our female tribute!" Says Gold, and I stare back, glancing sharply at them.

"Now, for the boys!" He marches over to the boys bowl, and reaches his hand in, and just as this happens a line of explosions go off, and smoke fills the entire area. People yell out and suddenly I feel the presence of someone beside me. Then, the smoke clears and I see I was right. "District Two," The boy says, taking a sarcastic bow, "Your male tribute for the fourteenth annual Hunger Games." I stare at him like he's crazy. If he _had_ a chance of winning, and did, the boys here would kill him when he got back.

Then I see how he looks. He's wearing a simple black tux, which is now covered in dirt, and the bottom lined in mud. Even his face is smudged with it.

There go his chances with the Capitol.

Suddenly, the boys who realize start to yell out swears and curses at the boy who seems vaguely familiar. Glow turns, sees, and offers him the microphone. "Ah...a volunteer?" He asks, adding, "And what might your name be?" for the boy to say back, "Jem Show."

"Alrighty then District Two! Give it up for your volunteer tributes this year, Cassiterite Vellemptuai and Jem Show!" Says Glow, addressing the crowd who burst out in applaud, their attention on me.

I see it happening already. All the cheers and yells are directed at me, and see familiar faces beaming and shouting good lucks. They finally realize. They know I'm not as weak as I might have seemed. They know I'm strong, and that I'll win.

The cards are all in my hands after all.

* * *

**Jem Show, District Two Male**

_**nightfuries**_

* * *

Seven beautiful, round balls, all interspersed throughout the dingy sewer. Seven long, thin threads trailing from each one, all connecting into the single, thicker cord I now hold in my hands. With great care, I place it on the large square of rubber I brought with me, cut from my brother's own boots. He probably won't even miss it. And if he does, well, all the better.

Slowly, I take a step back and admire my work. The reality of what I was doing hadn't really hit me until now, the day of the reapings, when everything would happen. When I would get my revenge. The bombs have all been placed under several grates leading straight up to the square to maximise their effect. No one will be able to escape it.

It occurs to me that, perhaps at this moment in time, I should point out these devices are _smoke_ bombs. No, I'm not planning on blowing up everybody during the reaping ceremony. I don't have a death wish. Nor am I stupid.

I smile to myself one last time as I look around at two weeks' worth of work finally ready to be put into action. _It's time._ Well, not exactly, of course. It's the wee hours of the morning, and thankfully both district citizens and Peacekeepers alike are still asleep in their beds, leaving the square completely unwatched and unguarded. Still, I'd better hurry; setup for the ceremony begins pretty early in Two. As the district tied with One and Three for most victors in fourteen years of Hunger Games, people here tend to go all out for the reapings. Nobody cares about the fact that we're only beating out most of the other districts by a grand total of _one_ winner, but it makes sense; I have my suspicions about whether or not most people in Two can actually manage to count that high.

Even with my eyes adjusted, it's still hard to see through the obscurity in the sewers, but in my rush to get down here, I'd forgotten to bring a light of some sort. Still, I've done so many dry runs of the plan that I could practically walk the route out of here in my sleep; almost unconsciously, my hands reach up and find one of the two grates I've left loose, heaving it upwards and allowing me to awkwardly climb out of the underground tunnels below. This one, my entrance when the time comes, is positioned near the edges of the square, about where they usually stick the crowd of sixteen-year-olds for the reapings. The other unfastened sewer cover is right behind the stage, where the escort will announce the names of two _lucky_ children to participate in the 14th annual Hunger Games. Of course, neither of said children will even make it to the Capitol; District 2 has too many hormonal teenagers desperate to prove themselves who'll volunteer as soon as they can.

Not that I'm one of them or anything. My motives go _far_ deeper.

Luckily, the square is as empty as it was when I first journeyed back down into the familiar sewers, though the light threatening to peek over the horizon and bathe our mountainous district in all manner of colours alerts me as to how little time I have. It's not so much the Peacekeepers I worry about; it's my parents. What's the saying? The early bird catches the worm? Ha, they spit on that motto. For them, the bird that never sleeps catches _all _the worms. I'd never seen either of them shut their eyes to rest even _once_, but as I ran into no obstacles sneaking out of the house this morning, I can only assume that even Graiv and Lenonne Show have to sleep occasionally. Hopefully they'd still be in bed when I got back.

The threat of my parents being up when I arrive hangs heavily over me, like some great storm cloud I can't shake, but I don't worry too much. Lying is easy, and even if they suspected what I said was false, they'd never be able to even imagine the truth. That's the problem with District 2: it breeds uncreative citizens.

Plus, I enjoy walking the district this early in the morning. Nobody out and about to point and insult you loudly to your face. We're not exactly subtle in Two, and the likes of most citizens are simple. You have big muscles, a permanent scowl and a desire for bloodlust? Pat yourself on the back, you've made it into the Career club, where you can be obnoxious, watch reruns of the Hunger Games and beat training dummies with clubs _all_ night long.

Sometimes I worry for the well-being of my district.

Of course, with uncomplicated likes come equally straightforward dislikes, and those I'm no stranger to. Is the person in question scrawny? Are they, God forbid, actually intelligent? And are they physically inferior in any way, shape or form, like do they have slow reflexes or a disease or, I don't know, a prosthetic right leg due to an old infection resulting either amputation or death? If you've answered yes to any of the following questions, well, prepare to be shunned, my friend. It's too bad; I so _wanted_ to be a part of the caveman club.

Sorry, did I say caveman? I meant Career. Easy mistake to make.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I finally come upon my house, still dark at this hour. For a moment, I debate whether or not I should just walk through the front door and up to my room; normally when sneaking out or in, the most-used entrance probably _isn't_ the greatest choice. But the alternative would be climbing the tree around the back to get my window, and I _hate_ climbing. Heights in general are a big no-no; I won't go anywhere without the feeling of solid ground beneath my feet.

Or rather, foot. I've lost the ability to feel with my right foot . . . most likely owing to the fact that I've lost my entire right foot, along with most of my calf. Yeah, that whole prosthetic thing wasn't exactly a random example. But hey, I was five when the doctor ended up having to amputate my leg; I've gotten over it.

I just wish everyone else would.

Quickly and quietly, I slip through the front door and up the stairs, taking care to avoid the squeaky ones. We have more than enough money to get them fixed, but I swear my parents leave them purposely like that, as an alarm system to let them know when they're kids are sneaking around. But, much to their chagrin, I'm not my idiotic brother; I'm actually smart enough to know that treading on the noisy steps is _bad_.

The hallway gives me another reason for my nerves to mount; the hall extends both ways, and while I won't have to pass my parents, I'll have to tiptoe past the bedroom's of both my older siblings before I can reach my own. Kor, I'm not worried about; in a truly wonderful representation of our district, my brother sleeps like a rock. But Adilina is sly, and she's caught me numerous times doing things I shouldn't. While at this moment in time I feel only hate for my brother, my sister is an entirely different story. In defiance of the usual District 2 mentality, she's actually grown rather cunning, and with her mean streak, it usually means nothing good. I dislike her about as much as the rest, but a certain part of me can't help but be impressed by her intelligence, while another portion of my brain knows to be apprehensive around her. If anyone could guess my plan, she could.

_But she won't, _I think to myself, holding my breath as I inch past her room. No one stirs behind the wooden door and I smile. _No one will. It's really going to happen._

* * *

I should have known the moment I walked into the dining room that something was up.

No one acknowledges anyone's presence in our house. It's seems to be a sort of family tradition to be as cold and distant to your relatives as you are to your enemies (probably because our relatives often _are_ our enemies). Of course, I'm ignored for other reasons in addition to that; whenever people look at me, their gazes are drawn like magnets to my leg (or rather, lack thereof). It's something no one can avoid and, as my parents are constantly trying to forget the shame of only scoring two out of three on the perfect child test, they've resolved just to not look in my direction. Adilina always follows their example, but today, as I enter the dining room and take my usual spot across from her, she looks up at me and raises an eyebrow.

"Already washed and ready for the reapings? You're eager this morning."

In truth, the half-an-hour long scrub I took in the bathroom had nothing to do with the ceremony later today. An unfortunate side effect of hanging around in the sewers: mud and other assorted substances that best remain unnamed start to cling to you like barnacles. Leaving the dirt on my face, in addition to horrifying my family at the uncleanliness of it all, would raise questions I'd rather not answer. As for putting on the black tux my parents force me to wear to the ceremonies, well, I figured if I threw it on now, I wouldn't have to go back upstairs and change later. No point in staying in the house anymore than I have to.

"Oh, you know, important day," I say casually, twirling my fork around in mock celebration. "Have to look nice for Kor's big moment." _That will never come, _I add silently. My older brother can get as excited as he wants, there's no way he's volunteering today. Not if I have anything to say about it.

"I'm sure that's exactly what you were thinking," Adilina answers, a twinkle of malice in her eyes that immediately punctures the balloon of happiness growing in my chest at the thought of my plan. What is she up to? "Was that your reasoning for sneaking out so early this morning as well?"

Crap. I force my face to remain neutral, while inside I rage and curse her name. Of course she heard me; nothing escapes the ears of that witch. Her words are apparently news to my parents though, who both look up from their plates and stare and me with hardened gazes.

"What does she mean?" my father asks.

I open my mouth to respond with some sort of sarcastic remark, but his cold eyes stop me in my tracks. Unfortunately, my wit is rarely appreciated in this household, or in most of the district, for that matter. District 2 is prosperous and has many things. But a sense of humour isn't one of them.

So in the end, I just sigh and drop my fork onto my plate. "I went out this morning."

"Where?"

This time, I can't stop myself. "District 11. I hear it's nice this time of year."

"_Jem,_" my mother says harshly.

"The training centre." It's the first thing that pops into my head. I glance back at my family and am disappointed (yet unsurprised) to see them all still watching me suspiciously. "You don't believe me?"

"It's not the truth," my father says, his stare never wavering.

Try as I might, my father is always the one person I can never completely fool when I lie. So, in an effort to steer the conversation away from this morning, I counter with, "You'd believe Adilina if that was the story she told."

"Because it would make _sense_ if I told it," my sister counters, and the smirk I hate so much grows on her face. "Rule number one of lying, Jem: make it sound believable."

My first instinct is to spit out an insult, but an idea occurs to me and I grin slyly. "Actually, I can't see how you training makes any more sense than me. After all, as of last year, you're no longer eligible for the Games." Her smirk fades as mine grows and I continue. "And, seeing as you were beat out in volunteering by a girl younger than you, I think any training on your part now would be pretty much rendered pointless." I smile innocently. "Don't you think?"

She just glares at me, emerald green eyes as hard as the gem whose colour they bear. "Thank you, Jem," she says coldly. "I'd almost forgotten."

"Always happy to help a sister in need." I flash her another quick grin before preparing to go back to my breakfast, the conversation now safely distanced from my actions this morning. But, of course, Adilina would never let me go that easily.

"Still," she begins, after a moment to calm the anger at her past failures that had risen with my words. I look up cautiously, hoping she's not going to bring up the morning again. "I figured you were avoiding the training centre. You know, after what happened two weeks ago."

My jaw tightens immediately and I can feel my eyes narrow into a glare despite my constant attempts to never show any emotion when Adilina's around. It'll only be used against you – trust me, I know. But knowing this does nothing to help keep my rage hidden.

Our little stare-off is interrupted as the sound of heavy footfalls coming down the stairs reach our ears, and seconds later Kor appears in the doorway. My mother gets up to grab his plate on the counter while Father goes over to greet him; not exactly in a friendly way but still, it's more than I got. Usually they leave us alone, but today is a _special_ day for Kor. He's going to bring 'honour' to the family. _Hurray_.

Determinedly not looking at my older brother, especially after having certain unwanted memories dredged back up courtesy of Adilina, I turn back to my plate in the hopes of finally getting to eat something, but not before I catch my older sister's triumphant smile. She thinks she won our little verbal showdown . . . and as much as I hate to admit it, she probably did. The thought just makes me angrier, and I picture her face amongst the scrambled eggs as I skewer them viciously.

"Good morning, Mother. Father," Kor says, all smiles. Of course; today is 'his' day. "Breakfast smells great. But . . . what else is that I smell? Could that be the scent of victory in the air?" He laughs and relaxes arrogantly back into a chair, but to my parents' credit, neither of them say anything. Sure, they never tolerate my sarcasm in the house, but at least they don't indulge Kor and his oversized ego either.

"You haven't won anything just yet," is my father's only response once the whole family returns to their seats again.

"Oh, come on, Father, it's reaping day! And we all know who District 2's male tribute is going to be." He grins stupidly, and I get the sudden urge to fling bits of egg in his face. _Just wait, _I tell myself, and at the thought of what lies under the square, unknown to everyone, I can't help but feel cheered up. _Just wait._

"You should still get some training in," our mother says sternly. "The training . . ."

". . . makes the tribute, yes, I know, Mother," Kor says, finishing our family motto. "I'll head out there soon, it probably isn't even open yet."

"It must be," Adilina says with a smirk in my direction. "Jem's already been there."

"Have you?" Kor asks incredulously, and I have to fight not to roll my eyes. Honestly, it's like this family never even knew I trained. I used to head to the centre all the time in the early mornings, when no one else was around. Not sure how most people do it, but I prefer practicing _without_ the sounds of laughter following me wherever I go. And laugh they would; I'm not Career, and probably wouldn't be even if I had two good legs. I just go to the training centre because, well, there's really not much else to do in our district. "You're pretty keen."

"Yep, that's me," I say casually, hoping he'll drop the subject after that. I haven't talked to my brother in the past two weeks and, ignorant idiot that he is, I don't think he's even noticed the difference. This refusal to even make eye contact with him has stemmed somewhat from anger, and also from worry that he'll bring up what happened again. He's no Adilina; he can't slip subtle insults into his words the way she can. But he loves boasting about his victories, and that was a pretty big one.

"Well, if you want, you can come again with me after breakfast." The request is such a surprise that I actually look up at him, brow furrowed in confusion. Then I see the arrogant smile on his face and immediately wish I'd kept my eyes on the eggs. "It'll be fun. Like the last time we were there together."

_The last time we went together._ Oh, it was fun all right; for him. For me, it was a painful, utterly humiliating experience that makes the heat rise to my face every time I think about it.

"_Do they honestly have to be so arrogantly loud?" I close my eyes in annoyance as yet another loud round of cheers echo across the centre. "I mean, really, it's getting ridiculous."_

"_M-maybe we should just go," Freydin stutters, nervously eyeing the Careers by the fighting ring. _

"_In a second," I say quickly. I also want to get out of there fast; we usually only go in the early mornings, and leave by the time the first serious trainees start to show up, in an effort to avoid any ridicule. But I'm just about to get a great score on the little game that takes the place of a strategy station. Yes, it's not much, especially considering the previous high score was a grand total of 8, but it'd be cool to know that, after I left, the name 'Jem Show' would remain at this station with the greatest score. It's not much, especially considering the strategy station is almost never used, but it's something._

_But then I hear a voice calling my name, and that's all it takes for me to wish I'd just listened to Freydin and gotten out of there earlier._

"_Jem!"_

_Forgetting for a moment where I am and that whoever's calling me is probably about to follow my name with an insult, I look up from my work and glance over at the fighting station. Kor's standing there, smiling as two guys come and drag a third out of the ring. Looks like he won another fight._

"_Kor," I say back, uncertain as to what he wants. Probably just a laugh at my expense. Wonderful._

"_What're you doing over there?"_

"_Leaving," I say, standing up, and I can hear Freydin sigh in relief at the prospect of getting out of the centre._

"_So soon?" he asks. It's actually extremely, extremely late for me; hence the reason he's never seen me during training before. He always was a late riser, while I'm exactly the opposite. "Why don't we have some fun?"_

"_I'm not sure what you're definition of 'fun' is, brother," I say back, "but I'm not entirely sure I'd like it."_

"_Sure you would." He grins. "Besides, you kind of have to."_

"_Have to what?"_

"_Rules of the fighting ring, Jem. Winner gets to choose their opponents."_

_I've always prided myself on being quick to think up something witty to say in situations such as these, but for a moment, I'm genuinely speechless. He doesn't actually mean that . . . does he?_

_Thankfully, my moment of shocked silence lasts only a second. "Well, have fun choosing then. Might I recommend picking Dollern? He's slower than a tortoise and about as smart as one too, you should have no problem . . ."_

_The boy in question gives a shout of indignation and steps forward menacingly, but Kor just waves him off. Beside me I can practically _feel_ the waves of terror rolling off of Freydin; yeah, not really doing much to make _me_ feel any better. _

"_Come on, Jem. One round." Kor grins. "Or we can do it at home, if you'd like."_

_And that's my mistake. I know he's serious either way, but I make the stupid assumption that it would be better to fight here, where there are supposedly _rules_ and things like that. At home, anything goes. Our parents would probably just consider it "good practice."_

_Heaving a great sigh, I reluctantly begin to make my way towards the ring. Nearly all of the kids who were previously busy with training have put down their weapons and are watching the two of us closely. Even if I'd wanted to leave, they probably wouldn't have allowed it. Career training has few rules, but the ones they _do_ have, everyone goes nuts about following. Chances are I would have been mauled by a mob of angry teenagers had I tried to set foot outside the door._

_The crowd of Careers part around the ring and it's just wonderful to see that most of them are sniggering in my general direction. But try as I might, and can't think up anything to say that might shut them up. Some have occasionally called be conceited, but only in areas where I know I can back up bragging with talent to match. When it comes to fighting, well, I don't bother trying to delude myself. I just hope it's over quickly._

"_Now, everyone knows the rules of the fighting ring," the Head Trainer, a small but strong-looking woman begins._

"_I don't," I say, raising my hand._

"_That's because there are no rules," Kor says, smiling._

_My eyes widen at the thought, but the Head Trainer shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "There are rules, Mr Show, please try and remember that. First of all, winner of the match chooses the weapons. Should I assume you want to give swords another go, Mr Show?"_

_How I wish she'd meant me by Mr Show. Then I could have said something along the lines of "Heck, no!" But instead, Kor's grin widens and he nods, and suddenly there's a long, sharp-edged sword being shoved into my grasp. It's a struggle for me to hold it up using both arms, let Kor flips and twirls it through the air easily with just one. "Hey, this thing is real," I call out to the Head Trainer, who's left the ring after distributing the weapons. "Don't we fight with fake ones?"_

_Kor laughs, along with most of the other Career children here. "Don't be stupid, Jem," he says. "Training needs to be as real as it can get."_

"_And in reality, you could probably shove that sword straight through my chest before I could even blink. I'd personally rather it _not_ get that real."_

"_Killing is not allowed. The fight will be over once your opponent has the opportunity to kill you and would, were these the real Games," the Head Trainer says from the sidelines. "Now, at the whistle, you begin."_

"_Wait, what?" I whirl around to face her. "Where are the other rules? What about injuries and maiming and other stuff that really shouldn't be . . ."_

_TWEET!_

_Thank goodness I'm still holding the sword up. By chance, Kor's first blow slams into the blade of my weapon instead of slicing me through like a butcher would a haunch of meat, but the impact of both swords crashing together is still enough to make my arms go numb. I stumble backwards and Kor approaches, still smirking. His second hit seems even more powerful than the first, and the vibrations rebounding off the strike are so powerful that my whole body shakes, tremors coursing through my arms and right up to my hands desperately clutching the sword. But I can't hold onto it any longer, and on the third blow, the blade goes flying out of my grip. I immediately throw my hands up in the air and say, "Oh, no, now I'm dead. Guess we're done."_

_The answer to my question comes in the form of a swinging sword, whose blade I just barely manage to escape by falling back. "Come on, Jem, you're not even trying," Kor says, bringing back the weapon for another attack. "At least make an effort to get your sword back."_

_Said sword is currently sitting all the way at the other edge of the ring, and even someone with the average intelligence of District 2 could tell that I wouldn't be getting it anytime soon. I open my mouth to explain that to Kor, but am cut off abruptly . . . and literally. No sooner do the first few syllables start to tumble out of my mouth than a streak of silver flies through the air as Kor swings his blade impossibly fast, and suddenly a line of fire seems to open up across my cheek._

_I raise my hand to the source of pain that's just sprung up on my face, and pull it back as soon as I touch wetness. Is that . . . blood? I feel woozy just at the thought, and a glance at my fingers, now coated in crimson, does nothing to tell me otherwise. The sight of blood has always made me feel sick – my own, that is. Other people can get injured all they want, but I prefer to remain intact, thank you very much. "You . . . you . . ."_

_Kor grins down at me. "No rules." He brings the sword back over his head. "Or at least, almost none."_

_My eyes widen and I roll clumsily out of the way as Kor brings the weapon smashing down to the ground where I just l laid previously. All right, that blow could _definitely _have killed me if I hadn't reacted fast enough. Where's the referee in this fight? Shouldn't there be a punishment for this sort of thing? But as I look over at the Head Trainer, I realise that no help will come in the form of this supposed "rule enforcer." The Careers just love fighting too much to intervene._

_I _really_ worry for the well-being of my district._

_Another barely audible swish as the sword flies through the air, and now a deeper cut on my arm has joined the ranks of injuries. I glance up at Kor and feel my stomach twist unpleasantly at the sight of his blade now spattered slightly with red. "Okay," I say, one hand alternatively trying to stem the bleeding between the gashes on my cheek and arm. "We're done."_

"_Not quite."_

_This time, it's not the sword that comes rushing up towards me, but my brother's foot, plunging deep into my stomach. I gasp as all the air leaves my system, and try as I might, no oxygen comes back to my lungs. This is it, I think, as second after second pass and I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe. I'm going to die in a stupid training centre surrounded by idiots who classify 'beating people up' as a source of entertainment._

_Then the air comes rushing back, and so does Kor's sword, but I manage to weakly dodge the latter while inhaling the former greedily. I'll never take breathing for granted again. Looking up, I catch the somewhat unfamiliar glint of planned evil in my brother's eye (he's not really one for 'thinking ahead'), and, anticipating another swing with his sword, I go to crawl out of the way. It's only when I feel the slight tug on what's left of my right leg that I realise differently._

_When the doctor amputated my leg, he had to cut right below the knee. So the prosthetic needed to be able to move and bend as naturally as possible. As a result, I can move the leg with my hands to accommodate certain positions, like sitting in a chair. It'd look pretty awkward if my leg didn't bend when I sat down in a chair. But the downside to this is it's easier for the prosthetic to fall off. And no one knows this better than my family members. _

_I almost don't notice it at first. It's not like I can feel Kor's hand on the plastic ankle as he pulls. But what I _can_ feel is the unbalance as he rips the leg away, so much so that I nearly fall over even with both hands firmly planted on the ground as well. For a moment, I'm just overcome by shock and surprise; then, what's happened really hits me, and I feel a new, more powerful emotion engulf me. _Rage_. All around me I can hear the laughter of the other Careers, not to mention my brother's own chuckles, but soon it's drowned out by an incessant roar of fury. I even forget my apprehension at going near my brother while he's holding a weapon as I whirl around shakily to face him, ready to scream something I'll probably regret later, but as long as it put him in his place, I don't care._

_I never even get the chance. The moment I turn, a fist comes out of nowhere and slams into my eye, blacking out my vision on all accounts. My hands slip out from me and my back hits the ground hard, just as something powerful slams into my already-tender stomach. I groan and roll onto my side, opening my eyes enough to see Kor lifting his sword back up, the hilt of which he must have used to create the giant bruise I'm sure is now spreading all over my midsection. He tilts the blade back down at me, using the sharp edge this time, and allowing it to rest inches from my face. If I'd had any breath left in me after the hit my stomach took, I'd be holding it in fear and anticipation of more injuries to come. But then he just laughs and pulls the sword away._

"_All right, you're dead now. And I believe that chalks up another victory for me!"_

_The other kids hoot and holler from the sidelines, and there's just as many cheers for Kor as there are insults being thrown in my direction. But I can't even force myself to care about them at the moment; there are tears of pain and humiliation threatening to spill down my cheeks, and I'm trying with all my might to stop that from happening. Kor doesn't make it any easier though._

"_You look awful," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I'd offer you a hand, but," he looks down at my prosthetic leg lying on the ground before him, "I figure you might be wanting something else." He laughs again and kicks it over to me before putting up his hands in a sign of victory, instigating even more hoots and hollers from the Careers around us. For my part, I just close my eyes and try to block everything out. Maybe there really was one rule to many in this fight; I think I'd rather be dead at this point._

Just the thought of that day makes the thin, white scar across my cheek prickle. Kor had said afterwards that the fight had been 'payback' for my interference with the relationship between him and his girlfriend. Yes, admittedly, I had been the one to spread certain disturbing rumours which led to their breakup, but that was only to get back at Kor for what he'd done the week before. Ours is a never ending cycle of pain and revenge. Neither of us knows when it began, but only I can see where it ends. Today. After months and months of getting his hopes up to volunteer and participate in the 14th annual Hunger Games, Kor's going to return home angry and distressed, while _I'll_ be the one taking the train ride to the Capitol.

Instead of deigning Kor's offer to train together with a response, I merely turn to my parents and ask, "May I be excused?" They nod, and I quickly scoop up my plate and go to put it in the sink. Don't want to be here any longer than I have to be.

But on my way out of the kitchen, I can't help but pause at the sound of my brother's voice. "It's too bad you missed out last year, Addy," he says, using a nickname for our sister only he can safely say – if I called her anything like that, I'd probably get another fist in the face. "We could have been the first family to have two siblings become consecutive Victors."

"You know, that's _still_ possible," I call back, ignoring my resolve to speak as little as possible to Kor. No one answers as I exit the dining room, but I do catch the sound of a derisive snort coming from Adilina. She doesn't think it'll happen. _And she's right, _I think to myself, grabbing the matches that'll set my plan into motion from my bedroom before I throw my shoes on to head out the front door. _If all goes well, she'll be right._

Freydin's waiting exactly where he said he would be when I leave the house. I told him he could just knock on the door when he got here, but my family terrifies him. Mind you, pretty much the entire population of Two scares him to death, so I don't know how it's any better waiting outside than in my house. Still, I don't question it.

"Sorry I'm late," I say, reaching the corner of the street where he stands. "To the world's dismay, my brother decided to grace us with his presence for breakfast."

Freydin swallows nervously. Kor, like most of the Career kids, has often been the instigators of both verbal and physical attacks on my friend, who was unfortunately born without the slim, muscular physique of a Career. To explain in better terms, four of me could hide comfortably behind Freydin and you wouldn't see a single one of us behind his immense girth. The Cripple and the Fat Boy, they call us. It's nice to know we're so well-loved.

"H-he didn't . . ." Freydin begins as we start the walk to the square. "He didn't _do_ anything, did he?"

I can feel my muscles tense again, the same way they did this morning with Adilina. Perhaps the most embarrassing part of the whole training centre ordeal was the fact that Freydin (and every other teenager in the district) was there to see it. And now my friend seems to be under the impression that I get beat up on a daily basis. "Yes. He broke my nose, both my arms, and smashed my skull in." He looks at me, shocked and confused, and I have to grin at the worry on his face. "I'm _kidding_. Kor's an idiot, who only looks for a fight when he wants revenge. And as I haven't done anything in the past two weeks to merit his attention," my grin widens, "He's completely unaware of my plan."

"He isn't expecting you to do something?"

"Kor doesn't understand the concept of 'waiting.' If I've gone this long without getting back at him, he'll assume I've let it go. Not after today, though."

"So . . . y-you're still planning on going through with it, then?"

I look at him incredulously. "Of course! I've been looking forward to this day for two weeks. Or maybe all of my life. Anyways, it doesn't matter. Today's the day things change."

Freydin nods nervously and part of me feels bad for bringing him in on a plan like this. I don't want him to feel any negative repercussions. But it's not like he's really actively participating in the plot, so he should be fine.

I hope.

We arrive at the square which is thankfully still empty of most citizens. They've set up the entrance booths though, and the people in charge eye us suspiciously as we sign in, and not without reason. The average teen from Two would be using the hour before the reapings to get in some extra training, not wasting their time waiting around in the square until the ceremony starts. Well, we're not exactly 'average' teens, now are we?

We're pushed into the vacant sixteen-year-olds section, and the distinct lack of our peers allows us to choose our preferred spot to stand in. Which is exactly what I'd been hoping for. As casually as possible, Freydin and I make our way to the edge of the area, where the familiar sewer grate greets us. I double check to make sure no one's resealed it since the last time I was here; that would kind of screw up the plan. Thankfully, though, it's still open; good. It'd been a huge hassle unfastening it in the first place.

Over the course of an hour, a small stream of people start to trickle in, getting larger and larger as the time for the reapings approaches. Our section becomes uncomfortably crowded, but most of the teens try to stay well away from Freydin and me, as though they're worried imperfections are contagious. All the better; I can't have anyone too near when the time comes, or someone might spot and stop me before I can kick my plan into action.

Finally, the mayor takes to the stage, signaling to me that it's time to go. I nod to Freydin and he swallows nervously, but tilts his head slightly back. Most people are focused on the speech being given anyways, but just in case, my friend is standing in front of the sewer grate and obscuring it from everyone's view. I duck down, well-concealed behind Freydin, and whisper a quiet "Thanks" as I slip noiselessly into the sewer.

"Be careful," he mutters back.

"Of course," I say, grinning. "Just sit back and enjoy the show."

My attempt at a pun seems to be lost on him, so I add a quick, "Think about it and it'll come to you," before repositioning the grate over the sewer entrance and isolating myself in the tunnel.

Knowing I don't have much time, I feel my way quickly over to the spot where I left the thicker cord, on the square of rubber. Actually, pieces of rubber litter the sewer all over the place; can't have the fuses getting wet, now can I?

I take the matches I'd grabbed and fumble in the darkness to light them, but this too I've practiced a million times. Everything has to go perfectly today. It takes two tries for me to finally coordinate scratching the match head against the box in the shadows of the sewer, but eventually, a little, tiny flame blossoms into existence. And just in time too; I take the cord in one hand and hold the match close to the edge, listening for the signal. Distantly, I think I hear the escort talking on, and then it happens: the running feet, signifying the predictable volunteering by the girl tributes. It's time.

I move the match closer and the dry cord wastes no time before lighting, flames dancing down the thread before splitting and travelling down the seven separate fuses. Time to make my exit; I need to be ready to leave by the time they go off, or I'll be hopelessly lost. Dropping the match and allowing the fire to die in the murky sewer water beneath my feet, I quickly shove the rest in my pocket and hurry towards the other grate, the one I know is behind the stage. My hands find the bars and I push upwards, but the metal doesn't budge.

My breath catches in my throat as the possibility occurs to me that they resealed this grate, but they can't have, they _can't_. I shove against it once more, nearly losing my balance as I do so, and move to reposition myself. Maybe I just need some extra force; this grate's always been sticky . . .

_BOOM!_

The explosion was exactly what I'd hoped for; loud noise, to distract the people above while huge, roiling clouds of smoke pushed their way through the grate. By the time everyone realised what was happening, it'd be too late. At least, in theory, if I could get this freaking _grate_ open. Straining my limited supply of muscles with all my might, I cough as some of the smoke enters my lungs. _Come on, Jem, _I think to myself. Just. One. More. Push!

Finally, the stubborn grate yields to my shoving attempts, and I don't hesitate to slide it off to the side before hopping out of the grate. By now, my time must almost be up; the smoke isn't going to hang around in the air forever. I'm completely blind in the fog that surrounds me, but my hands find the edges of the back of the stage, and I quickly heave myself up. It's hard to climb without stairs, but I don't even worry about it. It happened. It actually happened. Now, the question is, did it work?

After pulling myself over the edge of the stage, I stand and look around. Futilely, I might add. The smoke is so thick, I can't see a thing. But slowly, ever so slowly, it starts to clear up, giving me a wonderful view of a very confused-looking District 2. And despite my efforts to try and remain cool and calm, I can't help the grin from growing onto my face as everyone begins to realise there's someone new standing on the stage. First one, than another, then every pair of eyes in the district is on me.

I do a small, sarcastic bow. "District 2," I say, smiling. "Your male tribute for the 14th annual Hunger Games."

Even the escort is gaping at me, though he's quick to recover. I guess they're trained to deal with all _kinds_ of crazy stuff at the reapings. "Ah, a . . . volunteer?" He doesn't seem too sure, but he offers me the microphone anyways. "And what might your name be?"

"Jem Show," I say, hoping everyone can hear. And then the swearing reaches my ears.

I knew it'd take a few seconds for my thick-headed brother to fully understand what would happen and, when he did, I took great pleasure in attempting to imagine his reaction. But nothing makes me happier then to watch his face flush red as he starts yelling words and phrases our mother would never allow in the house. Some of the other boys take up the call, but I just smile, they're anger fueling my joy. _Who's useless now? _I think, smirking down at all of them. _Who's useless now?_

* * *

I'd also anticipated the goodbyes and my family's many reactions during them, but after Freydin came and went with a few not-so-reassuring words (it might have been more comforting if he hadn't been constantly staring at me like I was going to drop dead at any moment), minute after minute passes and no one came. I've just about decided they aren't going to come when the door bursts open and in storms a fuming, raging, now ineligible for the Hunger Games teenage boy.

"You!" I barely have time to blink before his hands wrap around the collar of my shirt, shoving me back against the wall. But for once, I'm not scared of the pain; I'm enjoying this too much. "You stole my chance!"

"And the chance of many others." I smirked. "Try to remember you weren't the only person wanting to volunteer, Kor."

His grip tightens, knuckles whitening while his face reddens. "I'm going to kill you."

"Can't hurt a tribute before the Games."

A wordless shout escapes my brother and he releases me with one hand, bringing it back and forming a fist. I flinch, but before he can move, a Peacekeeper is there, grabbing his arm and pulling him away.

"Rules of the Hunger Games," the man says. "No injuring the tributes. One more warning and I'm taking you out of here."

Kor yanks his arm out of the man's grasp and glares at me, showing me the full meaning of the whole 'if looks could kill' saying. Reaching into his pocket, he grabs something and brandishes it in my face. "See? SEE! I was supposed to volunteer! Me! It was my day, my time, my-"

"Wow, Kor," I say, taking a look at what's in his hands. "I didn't know you still played with dolls."

It's not a doll, of course, and I know full well what it is. With our family and a few others who live near us, it's customary to give an eighteen-year-old a statue, of sorts, on their birthday. It's a small, humanoid figure, carved from rock and meant to symbolise whatever you plan on doing with your life afterwards, since eighteen is considered the age you become an adult. Most people's figures hold picks or hammers, symbolising working for our district's specialty of masonry, but Kor's holds nothing. Instead, the statue's hands are raised in the air in a symbol of victory, while a simple crown resides on its head. The crown of a victor. He was arrogant enough to assume he was going to volunteer and win this thing even months before the reaping occurred.

Kor just shouts again, hurling a stream of curse words my way along with the statue, which hits the wall near my head and falls broken to the floor. The Peacekeeper goes to take him out, but my brother turns of his own accord and storms out, though not before sending one last glare of pure, absolute hatred my way.

It's only then that I notice the rest of my family is present too, waiting in the doorway for Kor to pass. I assumed they wouldn't have anything to say to me, but I'm proven wrong as they file in after my brother leaves. Though whatever they want, I can't imagine it's anything nice.

"So, any encouraging words from my dearest sister?" I ask, glancing Adilina's way. She's also glaring at me, and I know why; she was always closer to Kor than to me.

"I'll enjoy watching your death on live television."

"You know, I was _so_ looking forward to saying the exact same thing to you last year. Pity you didn't run to the stage fast enough." Her eyes narrow even further as I smirk, and without another word, she gets up and leaves. Perhaps she thought I'd be hurt by her apparent eagerness to watch me die; _please_. The two of us have never hidden our animosity from each other, and we exchange death threats on a regular basis.

So I'm left with my parents, and for a few moments, we just sit there in silence. Surprisingly, it's my father who speaks first. "I'm disappointed, Jem."

I stare at him, completely and utterly surprised. Not by the disappointment; nah, that's old news. It's the fact that he feels the need to say it; I already know it's there. "I would have thought you'd be happy," I say, somewhat sarcastically. I don't think my father's ever encountered _anything_ that makes him happy. "You've still got a child who's going to be a tribute in the Hunger Games."

"Kor wanted to volunteer this year. If you wanted to participate so badly, you could have chosen to go next year, or the year after that."

I'm getting tired of this. "That's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"He gets everything!" I burst out suddenly. Normally I try to stay calm, but sometimes the ignorance of my parents and everyone else in this district really gets to me. "He. Gets. Everything. He's better at training, he's better-looking, he's more popular. He even gets better grades in school then me when it is _painfully_ obvious who the smarter one of us is. I'm not going to allow him to be a Hunger Games victor as well."

"There was no guarantee he'd win the Games."

"But he'd still be a tribute! He'd still 'bring honour to his district' and all that crap. I'm _sick _of it!"

My father just looks at me. "And how do you plan to go about the Games? You're not a Career."

Surprisingly, he didn't seem to mean that as an insult – just a fact. Still hurtful, but you want niceties of any sort, you don't go looking to my family for them. "I'll think of something," I snap, although inwardly I'm starting to worry about that myself. Was volunteering really the right thing to do? _Yes, it was, shut up,_ I think fiercely. "I always do."

He continues staring at me for a moment, then rises, along with my mother. Without another word, they head for the door, but before he leaves, he utters two sincere words that turn my world upside down.

"Good luck."

"What?" I sit straight up on the couch, positive I must have misheard something, but then both he and my mother are gone. _Did he just . . . did I just hear . . ._ My head is reeling, so confused I barely register the Peacekeeper as he tells me it's time to head for the trains. I nod absent-mindedly and stand, still focused on what I may or may not have imagined my father saying, but something catches my eye.

Kor's statue is still lying on the floor, looking a little banged-up after its encounter with the wall. I frown and stoop to grab it, but as I lift the little figure from the ground, its leg falls off. I stare at it, completely nonplussed, before it hits me and I start to laugh. The Peacekeeper stares at me oddly but I offer no explanation, just grinning to myself and slipping the statue into my pocket. _Thanks for the token, Kor._

A broken token for a broken tribute. Fitting, no?


	3. District Three Reapings

**A/N-** Sorry if you were expecting an update yesterday. I got the days mixed up and I know I said Monday in the note at the bottom of district 1, it's actually Tuesday's. So sorry about that. Anyway here is District Three so I hope you enjoy it, and keep those reviews coming! :D

* * *

**Spark Themis, District Three Female**

_**Chaos In Her Wake**_

* * *

"Spark! Are you paying attention?" my teacher raises her voice as the rest of the class turns to gawk at me. I shift slightly at my seat and stop looking out the window at the gloomy gray morning. Maybe it could be nice, but not with the smog from the nearby factories forming an unpleasant haze in the sky. "Spark!"

"What, Mrs. Martin?" I groan.

"Are you paying attention?"

"Not really. Did you ask me something?" I avoid looking at her by pretending that I have something in my hazel eyes.

Mrs. Martin heaves a sigh. "Yes, Spark, I did. Can you tell me why the rebellion failed?"

I surely can. "The rebellion failed because the rebels didn't have adequate supplies to arm their forces."

"No, Spark, we've been over this many times. The rebellion failed because the rebels didn't have a strong enough cause. They fell apart when the Capitol tried to make peace with them because they couldn't give a strong reason for rebelling."

I know that's not true. They had a cause, and it unified them. They were fighting for freedom from the iron thumb of the Capitol. But while they were strong, the Capitol had better weapons and supplies, and they fought dirty. I sit down without arguing, though. I don't want to be arrested for treason. "Yes, Mrs. Martin. I understand."

"Can you see me after class, Miss Themis?" I nod, slumping back in my chair. My classmates snicker as Mrs. Martin prattles on for a few more minutes about the causes of the rebellion's failure and the Capitol's 'glorious triumph' before dismissing everyone to lunch. Well, everyone except me. "Miss Themis, come to my desk, please." I shuffle to the front of the room, wanting to shrink down into my baggy blue shirt and frayed cargo pants.

"I believe you called?" I sarcastically announce when I arrive. Mrs. Martin stares at me over her glasses.

"Spark, you're a bright girl. In class you show insight, but you never seem to put thought into the few correct answers you give. This is a remedial school, made to help the less intelligent learn, but you still fail almost every test. Why don't you apply yourself, Spark? I've looked at your file. You're only passing math and, fortunately for me as a teacher, this 'History of Panem' class."

"Those are the only things that interest me," I mumble, fiddling with the edge of my shirtsleeve.

"What was that?" Mrs. Martin asks.

"Nothing," I say quickly, "I just said that that's lucky, because nothing interests me." If they try to get me working in the fields that I currently enjoy, I'll just burn out. They're more interesting when Panem isn't feeding me everything they want me to know. I like finding things out.

"Spark, how will you find a job if you flunk out of school?"

"Maybe I won't," I snap, "Maybe I'll disappear like every other failure the Capitol wants to get rid of!" Mrs. Martin squeals and puts her hand over her heart. "Maybe I'll get reaped, and then you'd never have to watch me fail another stupid test!"

"Don't say things like that!" she admonishes, "Now go to lunch, before your friends start wondering where you are!"

"What friends?" I laugh bitterly. I may or may not be lying through my teeth.

My teacher sighs, pushing a piece of graying hair from her face. "I'll see you tomorrow, Spark."

"If I don't get reaped," I mutter as I turn to exit. I walk to the cafeteria as quickly as I can. It's oddly quiet in the hallways, but that's just because there are only three classes. Only the remedial classes meet on Reaping Day, in this sector at least. All the kids in the main town get Reaping Day off, I hear.

The food is a gray slop, just like during normal school. The lunch ladies could at least make us something edible to show that they feel bad for the 'stupid' kids.

Oh, that's right. They don't feel sorry for us.

I take my tray and glance around the room for my friends. They're the closest I've got to friends, anyway, because I'm sure they don't count for what Mrs. Martin considers 'friends'. We don't do things together or share secrets or copy each other's homework. We hang out sometimes and sit together at lunch so those super friendly people won't see us sitting alone and decide to 'cheer us up'. I can't stand them but they're fun to observe.

Seeing Wick in the corner, I scoot past the throngs of chattering kids to sit beside him. From our seats we have a view of the entire cafeteria- perfect for observing everyone else. The boy doesn't seem to notice me until I set my tray down, but when I do he whirls around swiftly.

"Have you noticed? The cliques are changing. Argent and Rhys's breakup is causing quite a schism. It's intriguing."

I laugh, short and bitter. "Great, another game changer. Maybe this time we'll rebel and bring about a new reign of terror amongst the remedial classes. You and me and Xitlally, we'll be the new District Thirteen!" It's Wick's turn to chuckle.

"Oh, Spark, you and your history. But, seriously! They were really angry, this time, not just snooty… like the past seven times."

"Aren't they always snobby?"

"Well, yeah, but I guess you wouldn't understand. When you get attached to someone like that, it's hard to be rejected. Are you still… against romance?"

"Yeah, I am. And how do you know about this? I've known you since we were thirteen and you've never shown interest in a girl." I turn to face Wick, but he's deliberately avoiding my gaze. I smile mischievously. "Unless you're not interested in _girls!_" Now he's blushing bright crimson. "Come on, Wick, I'm joking!"

He refuses to make eye contact with me until his blush fades to a light pink. "Spark, why were you late to lunch again?"

Sighing nonchalantly, I reply, "Mrs. Martin gave me one of her inspirational lectures about applying myself."

"She's right. It's great that you like things, but you need to focus on schoolwork at least sometimes. And personally, I'm tired of sneaking into the Justice Building to find records of the Dark Days or into the mathematics offices to see what new conjectures they're working on!"

I roll my eyes. "Wick, why are you even in remedial classes? You're smart and you don't slack off. In fact, you are always telling me off for slacking!"

"I like school, but it never stays with me. I'm just plain bad at remembering things!"

"Okay, okay. I get it. Now, let's not talk about school." I shove a glob of mush into my mouth. It tastes sort of like beans. "Who should we do this time?"

"That one," Wick points at another student, "the girl with the three guys sitting with her."

"Name?"

"I have no idea."

"Let's call her Florence," Wick grins. I laugh before I agree and we start. Dissecting the appearances of others is more interesting than most things teenagers get involved with, actually. "So, she's definitely sleeping with two of them. They keep looking at her butt."

"Wick…"

"I know, I know, you don't care." He slings a friendly arm across my shoulders, but I reflexively tense up until he moves it away. "What else? Oh, she doesn't care about her grades here."

"How can you tell that?" I take my glasses off and rub the lenses on my shirt. What subtle clue am I missing?

"A failed computer sciences test is right next to her."

"Oh. That doesn't count!" I lightly punch Wick on his arm before going back to my analysis of our target. "She's open and pretty much carefree, judging by how she carries herself. Look at all that confidence. I bet she thinks she's better than us." Wick elbows me. "You know I'm just being cynical. I can't know that."

He snorts. "And you're still jumping to conclusions!" I smirk, leaning back in my chair.

"Hey!" I jump up as I see a figure making its way to our table. "Xitlally!" The girl smiles and shakes her dark hair out of her face, but she doesn't open her eyes or look in our direction. I dash over to her and nudge her with my shoulder. She startles, reaching out a hand in my direction. "It's Spark," I say, leading Xitlally by her shoulder to the table. The blind girl finds a seat and cautiously sits down.

"Been people-watching without me?" she jokes.

"All the time!" I shoot back. Wick hoots with laughter.

"It never gets old, does it?" Xitlally says to him, "So who'd you pick on today?"

"A girl sitting with three guys," I say.

"What's she wearing?"

"Low-cut top and tight jeans," Wick lists.

"Sounds like a slut," Xitlally says.

I guffaw, "See, Wick! She's worse than I am!" The boy shrugs a little bit. "I didn't know the blind class was meeting today as well. I guess it's nice that you're here too."

"Well, we did meet- the three of us who are in the class, anyway. And two of which were blinded in accidents." She makes a face. Xitlally is the only one in our sector- and as far as we know, the whole district- who was born blind. Wick and I make sympathetic sounds, but the three of us are shoveling down the gray mush again. It's food, and food is useful. I have faint recollections of the rebellion days, when my family never had a stable home, and the strongest memory is that of hunger. I've never taken food for granted.

I finish the slop and glance up at my friends. "When's the reaping?"

"One in the afternoon," Xitlally recites without hesitating, "They should be dismissing us pretty soon. We have to take the bus to the main town and still have time to get to the square."

"It's twelve now. There are no more classes," Wick reasons, "We could just leave now." I ponder this for a moment before leaping up and pulling Xitlally to her feet as well.

"Come on then! A change of scenery will be nice, and we can get this dumb reaping over with! Let's just hope that none of us get reaped…"

"You're killing the mood, Spark!" Wick groans. He stands, tosses our lunch trays into the trash, and follows us to the school gates. No one objects to our departure, so we continue on to the rickety bus station. A few adults are chatting as they wait, but for the most part it's silent as we stand under the old metal awning. I shift my weight from foot to foot and push my glasses up my freckled nose, but no bus comes into view. I hate waiting.

As I take off my dark green cap and ruffle my short, dirty blond hair, a dusty vehicle rumbles into view. District Three's fabulous public transportation system. When the bus stops I help Xitlally get on and find a seat, then take a spot between her and Wick. It seems like the bus is eager to get to the main town- as soon as everyone is on board, it bounces off again.

"Weren't they going to repair these roads?" Xitlally wonders aloud.

"That's what I thought," Wick adds.

"They were," I answer uncertainly, "but they didn't have the funding. They never do. Budgets? They're all fakes. Usually thousands or tens of thousands less than what they are published as. That's the Capitol for you, steadily getting richer as we get poorer. Just like in the Dark Days."

Wick scowls at me. "Keep your voice down, Spark! Even if it's truth, you'll get arrested for saying things like that!" We jounce over the road in silence for a few minutes before another voice is heard.

"We're about ten minutes away from the center of the district, folks, so if any persons eligible for reaping are aboard, will they come seat themselves towards the front?" the bus driver drones. The three of us are the only teenagers on board, and luckily we don't have to shuffle around seats with anyone else. We just get to move up with everyone staring at us. A woman with a bag of groceries in her lap leans forward as Wick passes her.

"Good luck to you three today," she whispers. Xitlally smiles faintly at her. The bus driver nods to us as we sit behind him. There's no way that I can talk more about the Capitol here- bus drivers are employed by the government and required by law to report any suspicious behavior. I heave a sigh and lean back in my lumpy seat. I hate Reaping Day. There are always two terrified kids picked, and they go to that terrible arena, and people think their deaths are entertainment. Three is lucky to have had two victors. Especially last year, a little girl called Neon won the Games and nobody had really thought she was going to live.

Of course, Neon Edison's survival makes it even harder for the two poor souls that will be chosen in an hour or so. Two victors in two years, for such a weak district? That's unheard of, and besides it's highly improbable. I'm terrified. If I'm chosen…

No. I can't let my emotions take over. That only brings about irrational judgment. I tip my head back and close my eyes, trying to slow my frantically beating heart. It works better than I thought it would and I slowly doze off. Even the potholes can't rouse me.

Before I know it, Wick is shaking my shoulder. "Spark! Spark! We're in the town!" Blearily, I look around. Where am I? Oh, that's right. Shaking the drowsiness from my limbs and rubbing the sudden exhaustion from my eyes, I stand and walk off the bus.

An aura of foreboding hangs over the town, despite small children- who have no idea what today will bring- running around and giggling. Xitlally smiles at the laughter, and Wick watches the kiddos happily, but I start towards the city square without hesitation. Has my family gotten here yet?

Throngs of people already crowd the area, teens finding friends and families gathering each other close. My parents and sister Minerva will be here somewhere. They were off work today. I stand at the edge of the crowd, wildly searching for my family but not willing to enter the fray.

"Spark? Spark!" I hear Wick coming up behind me and I whirl around. "Spark, I didn't know where you went!"

"Wick, I'm fine, just looking for my family. Why are you freaking out?"

"I…I didn't see you go. You might have been hurt, or taken, or-"

"I'm fine. Did you ditch Xitlally?" Wick freezes. "Of course you did. Come on, Wick, she's blind!" I grab his wrist and drag him back through the streets to the bus stop where our sightless friend is still listening to the children's play. Our footsteps jerk her away from her reverie, and she turns her head in our direction.

It's kind of creepy.

"There you are!"

"I'm sorry, Xitlally, I'm sorry!" Wick stammers. She waves him off and rests her hand on my shoulder, and we start off again, this time with a cohesive purpose. Time to get this over with. I can find my parents and sister after this stupid reaping.

The tall buildings of the main town loom over us menacingly, like they're daring us to walk between them. Xitlally is unfazed, but there's a certain tension settling on Wick and me. Taking deep breaths, I manage to make it to the town square. The anxious journey seemed much shorter when I was alone. I guess leading a blind girl slows you down a little bit.

There's a line already at the check-in station, and Peacekeepers line the square. These overachievers in Three- they aren't here in eagerness or anticipation like the sadists who train and volunteer for the Games, they just want it over with. Like my friends and me, and Minerva when she was still eligible. I've heard old victors say that Three is full of nerds, and for the most part they're right. Even if some of us don't show it.

The little boy in front of us is so small that he has to be twelve. He's terrified and glancing around nervously like he's looking for someone. Friends? A sibling? Parents? Maybe he's just afraid of Peacekeepers. The line moves forward a few steps, and the little boy stumbles and falls to his knees as everyone shuffles up. Xitlally trips over him and squeals; the boy curls up in a frightened ball in front of us.

"What was that?" my friend hisses in my ear.

"You stepped on a twelve-year-old," I mutter back. She gasps a little bit.

"Are they all right?" Wick goes to help the kid up and the boy grabs the proffered hand like a lifeline.

"You could ask," I reply dryly, turning her in the boy's direction.

"Are you okay?" she blurts. The boy nods shyly, still clamped onto Wick's arm.

"She's blind, kid," I say, exasperated, "so use your words. You're not mute, are you?"

"I…I'm fine, miss," he squeaks. Xitlally, now able to place the boy, kneels down and faces him.

"Sorry 'bout that, kid. What's your name?"

"Newt. Newt Hillen."

"Newt, like the amphibian?" The boy starts to nod again, but stops himself and replies in the affirmative with his voice. Xitlally smiles. "Well, Newt, are you here with anyone?"

"No," he says uncertainly, "Well, not yet. Adonia and Laya are supposed to be here. It's their first reaping too. Jaz already got registered." Wick, grinning, ruffles the kid's hair and Xitlally sits back on her heels.

"Newt, are you afraid?" Newt nods, but Xitlally can figure that out without seeing the motion. Everyone's afraid.

I burst out, "Of course he's scared! Who wouldn't be?" Wick puts a hand on my shoulder and Xitlally shoots a glare in my general direction.

"Ignore her, Newt," Wick says as we again move forward, "She's a little prickly. You'll be fine and so will your friends." The boy smiles. "Now go check in!" We've occupied the boy long enough to make it to the front of the line. He scampers off to the Peacekeepers, flinches when they prick his finger, and then scurries to his section.

"NEXT!" I adjust my glasses before leading Xitlally to a station. Wick waits behind us. The Peacekeeper gives us a look. "One at a time, girls."

"I'm blind," Xitlally explains. The official isn't happy but he doesn't nag us anymore. The needle jabs each of us in turn- Farrin, Xitlally, and Themis, Spark- and we're registered. Waiting until 'Bartholomew, Wick' is registered, I glance around at the masses of teenagers. Everyone's getting nervous. We live in respectful fear of the Games, but right before the reaping it turns into an anxious panic.

"See you ladies after this is over!" Wick says hopefully, "And then we'll only have two reapings left!"

"If we all make it through. Every year there's a higher percentage that one of us will be reaped. We all take tesserae- Wick, you most of all for your little sisters. Even Xitlally has taken some, and she's blind."

"We know I'm blind, Spark, it's old news," the girl snaps, "You don't have to remind me of the two worst things in my life at every turn- the Games and my lack of sight." I duck my head and apologize.

"To change the subject," Wick says hurriedly, "See you later. I'm going to my area."

"Bye, Wick," I whisper as the boy disappears into his section. I silently lead Xitlally into our area. There are a few minutes left before the ceremony begins, but almost everyone is here. There are always those few people who slip in just as the Treaty of Treason is being read.

I glance up at the makeshift stage. There are five people on the steps of the Justice Building: our two demented, distressed victors, Matilda and Neon; the Mayor and his wife; and our escort. Our Capitol escort, who has been choosing the lambs for slaughter since before I was eligible, is M'shell- not Michelle, M'shell- Xenia, an older woman who sports pale purple skin, a green wig, and pumpkin-orange eyes. She scares the crap out of me. Her calm voice, her kindness towards those she selects- it's almost unnatural for the Capitol. And she's here again, certain to bring me another round of bad dreams.

But before she sentences two teenagers to their deaths, Mayor Filbot has to read the Treaty of Treason. He steps forward on pudgy feet, clearing his throat for the long-winded speech. I zone out almost immediately. If I ever needed to fall asleep, I would record the Treaty of Treason and play it to myself over and over. When the mayor finally retreats to his chair, I focus in on the scene once more. M'shell marches to one of the reapings bowls. The crystalline orb is tinted blue, so it must be for the boys. (The other bowl is colored rose.) Xitlally and I will be safe for a few more moments. She dips a light violet hand into the pile of paper, slowly drawing out a single slip.

"What's happening?" Xitlally whispers to me. I narrate the reaping to her as it happens, earning some irritated stares from the girls around us.

"She's choosing a name for the boys- not Wick, not Wick, please not Wick!" Xitlally squeezes my hand as the rustle of paper is heard in M'shell's microphone.

"WYATT KIPPER!" An audible sigh of relief is heard from most of the square, but a family standing to one side falls to pieces. It's their kid for certain. Xitlally and I are thankful that it's not our friend or the boy we talked to earlier.

No one steps forth. As tall as I am, I can see over most of the girls around me, but I can't tell what's going on until Peacekeepers move into the crowd of boys. They lift up a young boy who has fainted, and I bite my lip. "He fainted, Xitlally," I say. She winces.

They bring the boy to the escort and she fans him until he comes to. He looks around, totally shocked, until he's led off to the side. What a terrible thing. No Capitol sponsors will give money to a first impression like that.

M'shell is hardly fazed; she bounces over to the pink reaping bowl without hesitation.

"Here it is, Xitlally!" The blind girl's hand is probably fused to my shoulder, that's how hard she's gripping it. The escort isn't trying to raise the suspense anymore; she plunges her fist into the sea of names and rips out a piece of paper. Calm down, Spark, calm down, it won't be you, you'll be fine, the odds are in your favor- they have to be in my favor!

"SPARK THEMIS!"

No. No, this isn't happening. I'm dream walking- trying to move but unable to budge a single inch. I'm so afraid.

I have to be strong for this. The Capitol only lets you live if you're strong. They only let you live if you make them think you're important. I can barely breathe, but I force my shuddering body to take in air. Xitlally's hand slips from my shoulder. "No, Spark, don't leave me, Spark I can't see! Spark! No! You have to live… you have to!" Her voice never rises above a whisper, but the words pierce my soul. Everything's hazy.

I step from the crowd into the empty aisle. Peacekeepers nod at me as I make my way to the Justice Building. I feel as if I'm walking through sludge. Why is this so unreal, when it's the most shockingly real thing that's ever happened to me? I look around. Wick is horrified, shouldering his way to the edge of the boys' section to watch me advance. Sobs ring through the air- that'll be my sister or my mom.

The only face I can see now belongs to M'shell. She's smiling kindly at me, holding out a hand. I refuse it, mounting the steps on my own and standing next to Wyatt. We shake hands. It's clammy and the boy is trembling, but he offers me a smile nonetheless. I don't return it. Instead I face the crowd as M'shell announces us, trying to hold back my fear. I never thought a dream could be so real.

We're led inside the Justice Building by Peacekeepers and shoved into separate visiting rooms. They'll be dismissing the other teenagers now, and Wick will be finding Xitlally and rushing up here. But family is usually the first…

"Dear!" Mother rushes into the room and wraps me in a tight embrace. I've never seen her move that fast. "Darling, I can't believe this has happened!" She strokes the back of my head as I burst into tears with her.

"Mother, what am I going to do? I'm not strong enough for the Capitol, I'll never make it!" She rocks me back and forth, unable to do anything but weep. We sit there for a few moments, crying in each other's arms. I might never see Mother again. A strong hand on my back announces my father's presence. I restrain my tears and look up at him. He smiles sadly.

"I never like seeing my little girl unhappy. I…I..." he trails off, the magnitude of the reaping crushing him. My parents are so hardworking and talkative, it hurts me to see them like this. It scares me to see them shedding tears.

"Pop, I'll come back. I need to believe that. I need you to believe that. I want to come back more than anything else."

"Spark, we've lost you no matter what. You'll never survive unchanged, they never do. But you can't lose us. You can't lose sight of home. Promise?" I wrap my little finger around his and we promise. The bluntness is bitter, but lying and telling me everything is all right would be worse. My mother begins to remove her necklace, I suppose as a token for me, but I stop them.

"No. I have to take my glasses. They count as a token; do you remember that boy a few years ago from Four? They told him that his glasses were his token." Mother nods and fastens the jewelry back around her neck. I take off my green cap and hand it to Mother. "Keep this, though. A token from me to you."

"Spark…"

"I know. I love you too." I give Mother and Pop kisses on the cheek. They need to be strong, I need to be strong, and if they stay here it'll only get harder.

Pop smiles at me as he guides Mother out of the room.

"Whatever happens, my dear daughter, I love you." The door shuts and I bury my face in the couch cushions. I might never see them again.

Wick leads Xitlally into the room next. I rush over to the sightless girl and help her find a seat.

"Look at me, predicting the outcome," I start bitterly.

"Don't, Spark," Xitlally says, "It happened, and you're leaving. I never thought… I never thought I'd have to say goodbye!" Her words end on a wavering high note, and it's obvious she's holding back tears. She's trying to be strong for me. That girl is amazing.

"Me neither," I whisper, "So let's not say goodbye in bad spirits. You guys… you guys are the best friends I could have had, and I was stupid enough to think that you were just companions. I tried too hard to be independent, but you are good friends. Really, really good friends. When I'm the Capitol- in the arena- I'll miss you."

"Same here, Spark, but if you don't come back-" Wick gulps, "-we're stuck here without you. You'll be gone. What will happen to us if you die? We'll be by ourselves forever!"

"At least you guys get to stay together. I'm being ripped away from everything I know. Just… I love you guys. Never forget me. Never forget who I am now." They nod and I grab their hands. "You are both amazing. I'm going to miss you so much."

It sounds like a suicide speech, or at the very least someone's last words. Fantastic. I give Xitlally a hug, and then turn to Wick. Awkward. I don't hug guys most of the time. But we embrace, even though it seems to last for longer than is acceptable. I put it down to my anxiety and… impending death… and push it to the back of my mind. They turn around to leave, Xitlally's hand on Wick's shoulder, and I realize that I really might never ever see them again. I reach out to their retreating backs, but it's too late. They're gone. I wipe away the brimming tears with the back of my hand.

"Spark!"

"Minerva!" My older sister has stormed into the room.

"This isn't happening. It can't be happening!"

"I think… it is." My voice breaks as I utter the words.

"No! Not the first year I'm ineligible! I could have saved you! I could have volunteered, if it were only in years past!" Suddenly I have a face full of wild dark hair- Minerva's hugs are as rare as mine, so there is no chance to get used to them. "Look, the kid who was reaped with you, Wyatt- I work with his dad. The kid's pretty simpleminded. Just a piece of information for you."

"Um, thanks."

"Spark, I still can't believe this! I mean, I barely get to see you with my new job as it is! You have to come home."

"I know."

"I love you, sister."

"I love you too, Minnie," I reply, using her old nickname. We sit there, me leaning my head on Minerva's shoulder, until the Peacekeepers stride into the room.

"Time to go, miss," they tell my sister. I leap up to stop them but there's nothing I can do except wave goodbye to Minerva. She's gone before I know it and I'm left alone for the last few minutes.

I don't want to go.

* * *

**Wyatt Kipper, District Three Male**

_**Fritz as Pritz**_

* * *

I like seeing the world from above. It makes me feel as though I am special and as if I'm not just some stupid kid in the smartest district in Panem. That's what they like to call me. The idiot of District Three. It doesn't matter that I'm not the only one who can't read right or that I'm smarter than some of the drunks who throw up in the bar. I'm still stupid, retarded, and slow. That's all because when I read, the letters are all mixed up.

That's why I like climbing on top of the roof sometimes. From up here, I can see what the birds see and imagine what they think as they fly past us. They don't care that I'm dumb or that everyone else is smart. They see the beauty in the world. At least I hope that's what they think. My sister, Cassy, said something about "survival of the fittest" once before and that the stupid birds die out to make way for the stronger ones. I hope she's wrong about that.

"Wyatt?" I look down from my place above and see the curly brown pony tail that could only belong to Laurel. I smile at the sight of her and slide to the end of the roof.

"Hey Laurel!" She turns around and searches for me in the house. Why don't people look up? "Up here!" Her large brown eyes jump to me and I wave at her. There's a large scratch on her cheek and I think there is a bruise on her neck as well. I frown at that, but I don't let it stay on my face for long. I know that she doesn't like it when I frown.

"I need you," she says.

I nod a little and swing my legs over the edge of the roof. Her eyes widen a little as she suspects what I'm about to do. I motion for her to move away as I push myself off of the roof. I can feel the air run through my hair and for a small second it's as if I'm flying. But then my feet touch the ground and I tuck and roll so that my legs won't be numb.

Getting back on my feet, I smile at Laurel. She's thinner than last time and I think she has more bruises on her arm. I don't like seeing her like this and I wish her dad would say something to his wife about hitting her. But Laurel's dad is a drunk and he probably doesn't know what's going on with his daughter. Papa doesn't even know where I am half of the time and he never took a drink in his life. (He says they kill brain cells, whatever that means.)

I gently push back the tangled hair that covered her pretty brown eyes. She flinches a little but then relaxes and manages to smile a little at me. "How're things?" I ask even though I don't really want to know. Mama says that it's rude to think of yourself before others so even though I don't want to I don't want to be rude. Besides, Laurel always says the same thing when I ask.

"I'm fine."

I pull out the apple I had put in my pocket for later and give it to her. She eyes it with large eyes and shakes her head. "Helen will be mad," she mutters, even though she stares at it like the mutt behind the bar eyes the leftovers we throw away.

"I won't say anything if you don't." Without another word, she snatches it from me and takes a large bite. She gobbles it up in a few bites and I patiently wait for her to finish. Mama says I have a lot of patience and that it is a good thing. I like it when Mama says stuff like that because she doesn't say it very often.

Laurel tosses the remains of the apple to the side and looks at me with a wide smile. "Thanks Wyatt," she hums. She licks her lips to taste the remains of the apple juice on them before finally telling me why she came. "My dad needs beer."

My face falls a little bit. "Tommy's not getting any more until next week and we're using whatever we have left for the celebrations tonight." She looks to the floor and shuffles her feet a little. She looks uncomfortable. I don't like it when people are uncomfortable.

"I got an idea," I tell her even though I don't really have an idea.

I gently take her hand and lead her through the alley ways away from my house and toward the bar in the town square. Everyone is setting up for the reaping today and there are more people than normal walking around and talking to neighbors.

I manage to squeeze my way through saying hello to everyone that I pass. They smile at me and ask me about my Papa or how I'm doing in school. Some of them are genuine and some of them aren't, but I answer them anyway with the same energy that I'd give the other. The town people are the ones who like me the most. To them I'm almost their pet because in a way, I'm kind of like them. I don't work in the factories like all of the others and most of my days are spent taking care of the drunks. If it wasn't for the town people and Mr. Carrow, I'd probably be in some ditch somewhere, hiding from Papa.

As I ask Missus Pryor how her son, Teeve, is doing in advance pyrotechnics, Mr. Carrow shuffles out of his grocery store with a bitter grin on his face. "What do you want from me now, pigeon?"

I excuse myself from Missus Pryor and lead Laurel to Mr. Carrow. He scowls at her and folds his arms over his chest like what he always does whenever he sees something he doesn't like. "How's your family?" he asks Laurel.

"Fine," she always replies.

"Hm," he grunts before looking at me. I like Mr. Carrow's eyes the best because they're blue and there aren't a lot of blue eyes around here. "What do you want?"

"You've got any leftover beer?" He glances at Laurel for a moment before nodding to himself and shaking his head.

"All leftovers go to the bar for the wasted fools to drink when they can't tell if it's stale or not. You know that." I keep smiling even though I know my chances of saving Laurel and going down.

"Yeah, but do you have any left?"

"Sent whatever I've got this morning." My smile officially drops and I wonder what else I can do to help her. Maybe there's nothing I can do. No. There has to be something. "You know," Mr. Carrow says with narrowed eyes, "I don't condone underaged drinking."

I tilt my head to the side. "What's condone mean?"

"It means I don't agree with it."

"Oh, well it ain't for me anyway." Suddenly my legs got an idea and I can feel them starting to lead me somewhere.

"Who is it—"

"I've gotta go Mr. Carrow!" I tell him. "I'll see you later."

I'm not really sure what to do now, but my legs seem to so I let them lead me through the crowds until I'm at the back door of the bar. I glance at Laurel as she nervously plays with her fingers. I put my hand on her shoulder and gently give it a squeeze.

"I'll get you the beer, Laurel," I say. "I promise." She smiles at me and looks to the ground.

"If it gets you in trouble, Wyatt, you don't have to. I can just—"

"I don't mind getting in trouble. Not if it's to help a friend." Her cheeks get a little pink. "Stay here."

The bar—or as Tommy likes to say, pub—smells of alcohol and sweat and sometimes strawberries. To me it smells like home. I walk through the tall towers of Tommy's supply of alcohol until I get to the back kitchen. Bates is there making some kind of soup that smells like feet, but I know better than anyone that it tastes great. When the large man sees me, he stops what he's doing and hands me a spoon.

"It ain't too salty is it?" he asks. I dip my spoon into the pot and wait until it cools down before bringing it to my lips. The warm soup burns my mouth but past that I can taste the salty chicken soup. I try not to wince but the salt nearly makes me spit it up.

"Maybe you should try some oregano. That works well with this kind of thing." Bates narrows his eyes at me but then pulls out the herb I was talking about.

"You know what, pigeon? You just might be right. Just don't tell anyone." I smile at the little accomplishment and set aside the spoon.

"Is Tommy here?" I ask him.

"He should be. He and his pop are checking out the taps. They appear to be broken."

"Really?" My smile widens a little. If the taps are broken then that supply won't be used for tonight's drinking which means I can sneak one away for Laurel.

"Don't sound too excited," he grumbles.

"Thanks for the help Bates."

As I leave the kitchen, I hear Bates curse out something that sounds like "Ducking hits can't even make a decent soup." I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but I guess I'm not supposed to.

When I push through the door to the main room, the first thing I see is Tommy and his dad Mr. Steph Carrow trying to fix the tap machine. Mr. Steph is sort of like the uncle I never had and Tommy is my big brother. Mr. Steph is Mr. Carrow's oldest brother and along with their other brother Cable, they have run the main part of town for nearly a decade. Tommy is supposed to take over the bar some day and Mr. Carrow's son Faraday is taking his grocery store, but Tommy always said that I was welcome to work at the bar for as long as I wanted.

"What's wrong with it?" I ask them as I get to the counter that they are working at.

"The pressure frequency is—" Tommy starts but then pauses and glances at me. "It's just not working." I smile a little even though it hurts that he wouldn't even try explaining what was wrong. I wouldn't understand most of it, but at least I wouldn't feel like an idiot when someone asked me later what was wrong and I just say, "It's broken."

"What's up, pigeon?" Mr. Steph says from underneath the counter. "I didn't think you started work until later."

"Not until after the reaping, sir," I say. "What happens if you can't get the tap working?"

"Then we'll have to rely on the bottles until we get it fixed," Tommy grumbles. He hates the bottles more than most people. I asked him why once and he said it was because it meant that if something went wrong they had a weapon in their hands. I told him that a glass could be a weapon too, but he said that a bottle made it easier.

"Do you want me to move the tap supply to the back then?"

"Sure, pige," Mr. Steph says. "Thanks."

I take the barrels of beer to the refrigerators except for the smallest one that Tommy likes to save for when we run completely dry. It's only half full and most of the time he waters it down so it could last longer. It's not much, but I know that it will be enough for Laurel to not get killed. I put the smallest one to the side before going back to the front to make sure that there are no more barrels.

"Just go ahead and get ready for the reaping," Mr. Steph says. "We've got everything covered here." Tommy nods his agreement and I smile at them before leaving. I feel bad for taking the beer from them when they have always been kind to me, but Laurel's life is on the line and I don't want to risk her getting even more hurt.

Her wide brown eyes catch my own as I open the door with the barrel on my shoulder. She beams at the prize in my arms but then her eyebrows scrunch together. "Isn't that heavy?"

I shrug with my free shoulder and smile a little. "I've carried heavier." Her face breaks into a large smile as she gives me a quick hug around my middle. I'm a good foot taller than her even though she is two years older.

"You don't know how much this means to me," she mutters into my shirt.

"It's fine. You'd do the same thing for me right?" She doesn't respond because she knows that she probably wouldn't, but that's okay. Some people can't do what other people can. Like how I can't read the same way she can. Maybe she wouldn't help me, but I can help her so I will. Besides that's the only thing I am good at anyway.

I walk with her to the edge of the district where the "gettos" are. I don't know what gettos are but Papa and Cassy say that they are for hoodlums and really bad people. I don't like that Laurel lives with bad people. I wish that she lived in town where they could take care of her and let her eat when she wanted.

She lives right next to the fence with a few of her younger cousins who are living with them while their dad is in jail. The only one I like is Griff who is really good at playing chess. Griff has problems reading too, but he can see the letters in the right order at least. He and I are in the same class in school.

He and his littlest brother, Pip, are the only ones there when we stumble through the door. Pip is in a small old crib while trying to bite on the wooden bars while Griff is trying to do his homework from yesterday on the little coffee table that has white powder on it. I asked Laurel what it was one time, but she said that it was something that we shouldn't touch. I don't know what that means, but I took her word for it.

"Helen was looking for you," Griff says as I put the barrel on the floor by the refrigerator. At the sound of her step-mom's name, Laurel freezes on her way to the room that she and Griff share and I stand at attention.

"Did she say why?" Her voice is shaky and I don't like it.

"Nope. Just that you guys would talk after the reaping."

"Laurel…" I say walking toward her. She throws her hands out in front of her and shakes her head.

"You should get ready, Wyatt. I'll see you later."

"I don't think—" I begin but she immediately interrupts me.

"I need to get dressed." With that she slams her door shut. I can hear her soft cries on the other side of the door and I want to go in to comfort her.

"Just leave her alone. She'll be fine," Griff says, standing up and putting a hand on my arm.

"I don't want her to be sad," I say staring at her door.

He rolls his eyes at me and starts to lead me toward the door. Griff does that a lot, lead people around and try to control them. Papa says that it's because he's the oldest boy in the family and he had to step up and take care of his brothers and sisters because his dad is a "no good rotting drug addict." Normally, I do what he wants because he likes to and I want him to be comfortable, but this time I want to help Laurel more.

I try walking back toward the door, but Griff starts pulling me away. I'm a lot stronger than he is, but I don't want to hurt him. "There's nothing you can do Wyatt. It'll happen no matter what and if you try to make it better, you're just going to make it worse."

I don't want to leave, but maybe Griff is right. He tends to be right about a lot of things. I look at the door again and try to decide on what I should do which is something I've never been good at. Papa would say to leave that place and never go back. Mama would say to call the Peacekeepers on them so that Laurel could go to a nice family. Mr. Carrow would say that I should do what I thought was right. But I don't know what's right.

"I'll leave," I finally say, "if you promise me that you won't let Helen hit her."

"You know I can't do that."

"At least try. Promise."

Griff rolls his eyes at me, but then grumbles, "Fine."

"I'll see you at the reaping," I say walking out the front door.

"Yeah, see you." But the thing is, I don't know if I'll see Laurel after the reaping.

* * *

Cassy is beautiful in her long yellow sundress and sandals. Her blond hair is pulled back and she smiles at me as I attempt to do my tie. I like Cassy's smile the best. She always gives really wide smiles and she has dimples that make her look really pretty. She says that I have the same smile, but I think it looks better on her.

It's Cassy's first reaping and I can tell that she's nervous. She is playing the locket Mama gave her when she made it into the honors class and every so often she starts to tap her fingers against her leg. Mama sits with us on the couch as we wait for Papa to come home from working in his factory. (He's the smartest one in the district (at least that's what he says) which makes it even worse that I am stupid. Cassy's smart though and I'm glad that at least one of us can make him proud.)

"How was your day, sweetheart?" Mama asks as she runs her hand through my messy red hair. I tried to comb it, but is still sticking everywhere.

"I was with Laurel all day," I tell her as I finally succeed in tying my tie. I smile at my accomplishment and Mama beams at me.

"What'd you do with her?" Cassy asks with her eyes narrowed. Cassy doesn't like Laurel because she lives in the "getto." She says that only bad people live there. I try to tell her that Laurel isn't bad and that she is my friend, but she doesn't believe me. Cassy is like Papa in that way.

"I helped her."

"You always help her."

"I help anyone who needs my help." Cassy doesn't understand why I do what I do. It's like how I don't understand her homework. We try to make sense of the other, but it just doesn't work.

"And that's a good thing," Mama says with her hands still in my hair.

"What's a good thing?" I turn around and see Papa toss his brief case on the counter.

"That Wyatt helps people," Cassy says as she goes to give Papa a hug.

"Yeah, sure," Papa says making his way toward the couch. "At least he's good for something."

"Quent," Mama growls at him.

"What? You said positive comment and that was positive." Mama doesn't like it when Papa does that. She calls it a technicality and that it shouldn't count. I didn't realize that Mama and Papa counted how many times that he says bad stuff to me. I wonder what the number is at now.

"It's okay, Mama," I reassure her. "I know he meant well." And he does. Papa and Cassy don't get people the same way that I do. They get machines and math and reading instead.

"You are too old for us sometimes," Mama says placing a kiss on top of my head as she gets up to get a jacket for Papa.

After Papa changes out of his work clothes and we leave the house and start walking toward the square. Mama wraps an arm around Cassy to try to assure her that she won't get reaped while Papa and I walk next to each other in silence. Whenever I'm with him, I'm uncomfortable, even when I try to make it comfortable.

"How are you on your school work?" he asks me.

"I'm doing good Papa. Miss Jobs says that I can go to next the grade if I pass all my tests."

He gives me a warm pat on my back, one of the few signs of affection he has ever given me. "Good. You see what happens when you are productive and actually apply yourself?"

"Sure, Papa." We get uncomfortable again and I don't like it. With most people I know how to make things better and to make them feel okay, but I can't do that with Papa because he thinks that I'm stupid and he doesn't try to see me as anything else.

"What's that around your neck?" he suddenly asks me. I glance down and remember that I put the pigeon feather around m neck for luck before leaving the house.

"A pigeon feather," I tell him. "Mr. Carrow gave it to me because he calls me that."

Papa narrows his eyes at me. He doesn't like anyone in the district who doesn't work in the factories. He says that it's against what we're taught in school. "Why does he call you something so stupid?"

I look at the floor. "Because I like climbing and pretending that I'm a bird." The truth is, he called me that because he says that pigeons look stupid but they are actually one of the smartest birds out there. I'd tell Papa that, but I think that he would get mad at me.

"You should get your head out of the clouds and focus on school more often. That's probably why you aren't doing well in school."

"I'm bad at school 'cause I can't read Papa."

He scowls at me. "You would be able to read if you tried harder." He glares at the feather around my neck. "And I don't want you wearing something stupid." He holds his hand out for me to give him the feather.

"But Papa—"

"Give it to me."

I keep my eyes down as I undo the necklace and hand it to him. He puts it in his pocket just as we arrive in the square. Papa and Mama give us final words of encouragement before we go to where we're supposed to.

I'm so sad that Papa took away my feather that I don't even try to make the lady smile as she pricks my finger to make sure it's me. Maybe I can convince Papa that it's not a bad thing and that it helps me focus or something. I know Papa wouldn't believe me but I have to try.

There's a lot of people here, too many people if you ask me. We got there a little late so everyone is already prepared to start. Mr. Mayor gets to the stand and reads the Treaty and stuff. I don't really listen so I talk to the kid next to me who looks really nervous. I think he's one of the kids from the "getto" and I've seen him take how a lot of "tess-er-ay" or whatever it's called. I think his name is Terry and I remember him winning a race at school.

I start whispering to him, mentioning how face he was at that race and how I wish I could run like that. He smiles a little bit and I continue on to tell him that he should try to be a runner between the factories when he gets older because Papa always complains that the runners they have are too slow.

Then the strangest thing happens. I hear my name and it's really loud. And suddenly everyone is looking at me and the lady on the stage is smiling at me and there are Peacekeepers trying to get to me. I look at Terry and I can tell he's not nervous anymore.

That's when I realized what happened. I've been reaped.

And that's also when my world went black.


	4. District Four Reapings

**A/N-** I should let you all know District Five may not be updated Saturday, I haven't received the reaping yet but I was told it would be in soon so fingers crossed update should actually happen. Anyway enjoy District Four!

* * *

**Lush Thistle, District Four Female**

_**tr1xx777**_

* * *

_The District One boy flew at me, a sword in his hand. His eyes were cold and lifeless as he swung the sword, slicing open my stomach. It wasn't deep enough to kill me, but there was no doubt in my mind that if I didn't fight back, he would kill me._

_I swung my knife and slashed the boys arm but he didn't even flinch as fresh blood dripped from the opening in his skin and stained his tattered clothes. He was already covered in so much dirt and grime and blood that he almost blended in with the arena. That was how he managed to sneak up on me._

_The games had been long and tiring and I just wanted to be finished with them, but losing to someone like District One was not my plan. I was supposed to win and bring back fortune and fame to District Four. Not lose. Losing had never been in my vocabulary._

_The boy swung his sword again, this time slicing a deep gouge into my already bruised thigh. I screamed as blood poured out of my new wound and my knife slipped from my hand as I grabbed my leg in agony. My knife was the only possible way I could survive. Without it, I was pretty much dead._

_District One kicked me in the knees and I felt myself falling back, I tried to lash out to at least injure the boy long enough that I would have even the slightest chance of winning the Fourteenth Hunger Games but my fist connected with air._

_I fell back, landing on the rough rock and using one hand to cover my stomach, and the other to help me back away. "P-please! No!" I surprised myself when tears started streaming down my face and stained my blood-soaked shirt. "Please, I only wanted to survive!"_

_"So do I." he muttered and raised the sword above his head. He swung the sword down like an axe, and just as it was about to come in contact with my neck-_

The sound of a closing door sent me flying out of bed. Sweat covered my body, making my brown waves stick to my forehead. I was gasping for breath as I threw the blanket off me and scrambled out of bed. I was shaking so badly that for a second I truly believed that I was having a seizure or something but I quickly calmed myself down. There were more important things to deal with at the moment.

Checking the clock - it was about 6:00 in the morning - I snatched two knives off my white dresser and snuck out of my bedroom. I knew I hadn't imagined the sound of someone shuffling around by the bootroom of my house, and they were about to pay for it.

I tip-toed down the hall, ready to kill anyone who dared to break into my house, on the Reaping day, no less. I could hear the footsteps of someone, probably a man, as they walked around my house. He was just around the corner and he would definitely be getting a surprise when he found two knives lodged in his head.

I raised my knife and jumped out from around the corner, prepared to throw it at the person a mere two metres away from me. I dropped the weapon when I realized who it was. "Dad?"

"Hey, Lush. I bought you something for your big day!" My father said excitedly. I had not seen him for over two weeks because of his job, doing god knows what. He didn't have any of his suitcases behind him, meaning he was probably only staying for the Reaping before leaving again. It wasn't something new, I knew the routine.

Father picked up a white box with a fancy red ribbon tied around it and handed it to me. Cautiously, I untied the ribbon and let it fall to the floor before peaking into the box.

I tore off the lid and pulled out a silver, chain necklace. On the end, there was a simple white flower. "Wow, it's nice." I was never one to talk about my feelings and whenever I even tried to appreciate something, it would come out as awkward or unthankful.

"The flower is to symbolize that you're the daughter of a florist. When you're in the arena and missing home, just look at it. It's like home on a chain." Father chuckled at his own lame joke. I don't know why my mother found him attractive. Bushy beard, large stomach, bad jokes; none of these seem husband material.

But then again, he does bring in the money while she's being controlling and sending her five year old daughter off to train to be a killer. I hate her every day for what she made me become.

I snorted as I clasped the necklace around my thin neck and adjusted it so it hung nicely. "I doubt I'll ever be missing home when I'm out killing some pathetic kid."

Sadness shone through my father's eyes but I simply ignored it, I didn't have time to comfort him and tell him that I was sorry and how much I loved it. Instead, I simply said, "I have to go get ready."

I finger combed my brunette waves as I walked away from my father and into the small bathroom. The Thistle family wasn't poor but it definitely wasn't the richest of all of District 4. I lived in a middle class house, doing middle class things as I trained every day, because my middle class mother wanted me to win the Hunger Games. I hated it.

I shook the thoughts from my mind as I stripped myself of the sweats and T-shirt that I had worn to bed. Mother had hung a sleek black dress on the shower rod, probably hinting that I should actually wash myself of all the dirt and grime that had built up after hours of training yesterday.

Skipping the shower, I pulled the black dress over my head and slipped on some black flats. I pushed a white flower behind my left ear before looking in the full length mirror and frowned, it looked like I was going to a funeral. A white flower themed funeral. I rolled my eyes at my mother's outfit choice before leaving the bathroom.

My little sister Rosemary was sitting at the table - munching on some buttered toast - while my Father sat across from her, smoking a pipe. Who smokes a pipe in front of a twelve year old girl?

"You look really pretty, Lush." Rosemary offered from the breakfast table as her mother combed her hair to perfection. When I was younger, I used to wish my mother would do that for me but over the years, I accepted that mother would never love me as much as she loved her precious 'Rosemary.'

"Whatever." I mumbled as I leaned against the kitchen counter. I decided that I would just eat on the train to the Capitol instead of bothering on whatever was in the fridge. Which was probably fish, everything was fish here. The food was fish, the water tasted like fish, our house even _smelled _fishy. But I had grown used to the smell over the years.

"Lush, when you volunteer, make sure you look fierce, we don't want the Capitol to think that you're a weak child who can't fight to save her life. Oh, and make sure..." my mother continued on to tell me exactly how to present myself so I would be able to get sponsors. As if she hadn't already drilled this stuff in my head already.

"You know, I think I'm going to go now." I said and left, not letting my mother get another word in. I was tired of hearing the woman talk about what I had to do and how I had to act. She'd been doing it for the last seventeen years and finally, I could break free from my controlling mothers grip.

"Good luc-" Rosemary's voice was cut off when I slammed the front door shut. The Reaping was in less than an hour and I planned on getting there first. Early bird gets the worm, right?

I started walking through the park to get to the Reaping. It was the fastest way to get there and it also meant avoiding the crowds of excited teenagers or fishermen that hung out by the docks. There were only a few people in the park this early in the morning but none of them paid me any attention. Except one boy.

"Hey there, beautiful, how would you like to be escorted by a fine gentleman, like myself?" a voice came from behind and I rolled my eyes at the familiar sound of Quintus, the biggest player in all of District 4. His face was a little purple, like he had gotten into a fight.

Quintus was known for getting around and never really sticking to one girl for more than a few days. Most of the girls practically fell at his knees whenever they saw him but I had never taken an interest. While other girls would be out, getting their first kiss, I would be making my first kill.

"I'd rather get speared in the head." I snapped back, rudely. Quintus and I had met at the training academy and right when we met, I knew that I wouldn't like him. Truth be told, I didn't really like anyone but Quintus held a special place in my heart of hatred.

"Suit yourself." Quintus shrugged and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Rumor had it that Quintus would be volunteering as tribute this year, alongside me, so I didn't really want to make enemy's with a possible ally. Even though I seriously doubted that a little eye roll would change anything after I had just told him I would rather die than walk with him.

"I have to go, you know, win the Hunger Games." I smirked as I began walking away. I could hear Quintus snort from behind me.

"Yeah, District four will definitely have a champion this year but it sure as hell isn't going to be you." he yelled to me. If he thinks he could ever beat _me _at the Hunger Games, he was beyond crazy!

"We'll see!" I called back before breaking out into a full on sprint, not wanting to deal with the boy any longer. I had never been a conversationalist, usually scaring people off by my twisted humour and sarcastic attitude. It didn't really matter anyway, the only thing charisma could get you in the Hunger Games was sponsors, but I already planned on getting those when I scored a perfect twelve on the training scores.

I had reached Reaping place about twenty minutes prior to when everyone else would usually show up. There were already a few people there; all probably bouncing with excitement on how they _thought_ this would be their year. I had other plans.

"Lush Thistle." I said, immediately, when I approached the desk where the Peacekeepers would be pricking my finger for blood. I held my hand out and watched as they put a small needle to it and a tiny drop of blood came out.

When they finished the blood test, I walked over to where a few other girls in my age group were standing. I recognized a few of them from the Training Academy, but the other two must have come from a different academy. Judging from the extra fat that made a tiny hill on both of their stomachs, it wasn't a very good academy.

I watched as people slowly started to show up. Some of the younger kids were crying, probably thinking that they'll get picked, but coming from a career district; we all know that would never happen. For the fourteen years of the Hunger Games, someone has always volunteered almost every year, save for the first few when everyone was terrified of the Games.

I saw Rosemary walk to her age division, shaking badly. She already knows that I'm volunteering, so what's her deal? I swear I even saw a few tears stream out of her eyes as she wrapped a friend in a hug.

"So is it true that you're planning on volunteering this year?" I turned to see a girl with curly red hair that barely met her jaw line and sparkling blue eyes. Her name was Fern Polinfeild, and she was probably one of the only people in the entire district that I could tolerate. The only reason I could tolerate her was because we had a few things in common; we both despise our families, we're both training as careers, and neither of us take crap from anyone.

"Yup." I answered, popping the 'p.' Someone bumped into me so I shoved them back, much harder before turning back to the red head who was playing with her curls. She was wearing a simple white dress and a navy blue blazer with a tiny anchor stitched into the side. Fern had on a silver charm bracelet that also had a little anchor on it to honor the fishing district.

"Do you think you're going to win?" Fern asked and I rolled my eyes. Of course I am going to win! I was one of the top fighters in my academy and practiced up to six hours a day, at the least. The only times I didn't train for about eight hours, was when school got in the way.

"No, I'm volunteering because I feel like dying." I spat sarcastically and she rolled her eyes back at me. Just because I could tolerate Fern didn't mean she was my friend and I would be all buddy-buddy with her.

"Wow Lush, with that attitude, the sponsors are just going to _adore _you." Ferns voice was dripping with sarcasm. I opened my mouth to reply but realized that everyone around me had quieted down and were all looking back at the stage. The Reaping was finally about to start!

I turned to the stage where District fours escort was already standing in the back as the Mayor took the front of the stage. "Good day, District 4!" he says cheerfully like he does every year.

The Mayor continues to recite the Treaty of Treason, which I tune out. I've listened to that Treaty for the last five years and I think it's safe to say that I've got it memorized.

I come back to reality when Roxanne, our escort steps forward, her long black hair flowing to her feet like a waterfall. I've never really understood the Capitols taste in clothes or how they dye their skin and hair, different colors.

Roxanne isn't the strangest looking escort with her pale blue eyes that go in contrast with her dark skin and long jet black hair that reaches the ground. I knew that a few of the boys in my district had a little crush on her but I thought she was just plain ugly, but then again, that's coming from someone who never put any effort in her looks at all.

"B-before w-we s-st-start the Re-Reaping, here's a v-video f-from the C-Ca-Capitol." Roxanne stutters out and turns to watch the video shown on the screen behind her.

The video starts with the Rebellion of District 13, a District that isn't even there anymore because the Capitol wiped it out. By the end of the video, we were all watching the previous Hunger Games, as people died the most gruesome of deaths. I couldn't help but think that in a week or so, I'll be the one causing all of those deaths.

The video finally comes to a stop as we all watch in anticipation as Roxanne slowly walks to a large bowl, filled about halfway with names of all the girls in the District. I heard a few of the younger girls sob a little louder as they held on tightly to each other.

Roxanne opened her mouth to speak again. "N-n-now the m-moment you've all b-been w-w-waiting for. It's t-time t-to ch-choose th-the f-female-"

"I volunteer!" I scream as loud as I possibly can before Roxanne could even finish her sentence. I shoved my way to the front, 'accidently' kicking a few of the girls in the shins when they tried to scramble to the stage before me. Everyone knows it's survival of the fittest and if they can't even get to the stage then they _obviously _aren't the fittest.

I finally manage to reach the stage where Roxanne was waiting patiently. "My name is Lush Thistle." I say before Roxanne could even manage to get a word out. She seemed bewildered that someone could just stride up to her before she could even touch the large glass bowls.

I saw a camera in the corner of my eye and turned to stare directly at it before adding, "And I'm your next victor." I winked. A shocked silence fell over the crowd, like they didn't know what they were supposed to say to that.

"Her? As a Victor? You have to be joking!" I turn to the sound to see Quintus pushing his way to the stage and I roll my eyes. Why couldn't this guy just get the hint and leave me alone?

"And you think you've got it?" I scoff. Could this guy get anymore full of himself? His ego is gonna be the death of him!

I glance over at Roxanne to see she looks like a deer caught in headlights; her eyes are wide and her gaze keeps on switching from Quintus and the boys Reaping bowl like she doesn't know if he is volunteering or just came up on stage to challenge me.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Quintus exclaims smugly and smirks at me, and finally I can't take it anymore and lunge towards him. Of course, Quintus has been through the same training as me and easily caught my wrist. "There's a time and place for this."

I shot a glare at him and ripped my hand away from his grasp as the Peacekeepers separated us. I was so furious that I wasn't even paying attention to what Roxanne was saying, but the next thing I know, Quintus and I are being ushered off stage. All I can do is stare at the back of his head in rage.

_Watch out, Quintus, if someone doesn't kill you first; I will._

* * *

**Quintus Xavier Praetorian, District Four Male  
**

_**Soundhawk**_

* * *

Adrenaline shoots through me as I groan, the palm on my face pushing me further into the solid wooden table. It feels like my head is going to be crushed, and frankly, I know what that feels like. I hear a faint laughter coming from my father, watching his two sons fight. I think he likes to watch his children fight; something morbid like that would fit him perfectly. Through the pain and flashes of red, I somehow manage to gather strength, and hit out at my brother, slamming an unexpected fist into his face as he bends down to sneer in my face. He lets go and I stagger to my feet, pivoting on my heels to meet my brother head on. He laughs, leaning against the worktops of the kitchen.

I lean against the kitchen table, gripping it, trying to stop the world from spinning. I feel sick, my head pounding and sweat pouring out of my body. There are not many people I hate confronting, and Cassius is one of them. It's hard to believe we're brothers by the way we treat each other, but we are, and I hate it.

My father, Vitus, looks between us both, his forest green eyes sizing us both up. There's four years between me and Cassius, but I could take him, if I tried really hard. And I would take him on; if it wasn't for my father. "You learnt your lesson yet, Quintus?" my father asks, his voice like chalk on a chalkboard.

I simply growl back, the blurring in my eyes finally stopping. Vitus simply shakes his head, motioning for my brother to finish me off. I stand my ground, giving him one of my eerie glares. He simply scowls at me, taking no notice as he walks forward. My eyes flicker to his hands and I watch them curl slowly into fists.

And then he swings, and I duck, moving out of the way of the flying fist. I move behind him, grabbing him around the neck and squeezing. He gags, placing his hands on top of mine in a record time, sticking his stubby fingers into my flesh. We grapple for a moment, and he runs to the right and slams himself into a worktop, trying to make me release him. And I do, my grip loosening and then vanishing as he slides on the kitchen floor with ease. He turns, but I'm ready for him, and it goes into a full fist brawl, swinging and dodging blows. I smash my fist into his jaw, and he staggers back, his eyes full of hatred.

"How dare you," he hisses; his voice full of venom. I shrug, a smirk forming on my lips and it sets him off into a frenzy, running towards me like a bull. _He's so easy to wind up,_ I think, pulling my right hand into a tight fist.

Before he gets to me, my father appears in front of me, stopping Cassius with one simple movement. Cassius recoils, his eyes burning with passionate hatred which I love. There's nothing like the thrill of winding people up, especially if they have a massive temper. Vitus keeps his cool demeanour though, walking backwards but keeping an eye on both of us. He reaches the kitchen sides, and pulls himself up so he's sat on the work tops. Silence turns into tension as my gaze flicks between Vitus and Cassius. One looking so bored with the other looking so riled. Finally my father says, "You're not entering into those damned Games."

"Tough shit, my decision," I say back and my brother growls. I stick my tongue at him, a childish but smug gesture. But hey, that's what I'm all about.

"It's not your decision Quintus, it's mine. You are not going into those Games. Think what would happen to me if you lost. I'd be shamed," Vitus snaps back, his eyes showing only a hint of annoyance.

I scoff, so much for caring about the fact that I could die.

"Whatever," I mumble. My father gives me an intense glare and I sigh. "Fine."

There's no point arguing with him. I know that I couldn't win the argument and I would only be making it worse for myself if I did challenge his lame authority. Besides, there's nothing he can do to stop me, and if he tries, I'll be there to knock him down. He may have the authority to go against me, but he doesn't have the authority to challenge the President of Panem. He may have power, but not to that extent. Even he knows that.

I turn suddenly and leave the kitchen. As I get further away from the kitchen, I start to run faster, convinced that my father or my brother could be after me. Covering my fear, I try to slow myself to no avail. I hate the fear Vitus inspires from me but it's there, masked with cruelty and smugness. Only he can pull my strings so that I can feel fear.

I open the front door, opening it to the smell of the ocean on the breeze. Slamming the door behind me, I walk briskly along the sidewalk.

Overall District 4 isn't a bad place to live. It looks much better than the other Districts with their smog and grim surroundings. At least with District 4, it was clean and fresh with a hint of salt in the air. The District is near the sea, and so on days off most people go down there for a swim. But not today. Today everyone is preparing for the next set of Games.

_I remember when the Games started, fourteen years ago. I was only three when they first announced them and it's my first real memory. They announced them, the first of their kind, as they forced the whole District into the plaza, and pulled the names of two kids out of a hat. They trailed to the front, almost hauled to the stage. Crying, weeping, waves of confusion setting over everyone, not one quite sure what was happening. Then they promptly cut the heads of the traitors in the District. For District 4, there weren't that many. Not like there was in District 9 or 12. Finally they read out a speech, now called the Treaty of Treason, and told us that the Dark Days were over. I remember them leaving, and turning to my father, asking what was going on. He replied, "The New Age, son. I told you that joining the Capitol during the Dark Days war had been a good idea." _

Shaking my head from the memory, I continue down the sidepath and onto the street. The first year of the Games had been complicated for the District, but now they are seen as a chance for glory. And I want a piece of glory.

Seagulls cawed overhead as I marched down the street, constantly vigil. I make my way down several streets, taking the paths carefully. I soon reached the small park located to the west of the District. It has vibrant green grass which appears to be freshly cut. We have to look good on Reaping day.

"Well, hello," I hear a voice say and I quickly scan for the noise. It's a friend of mine, leaning up against one of the few trees, a smirk on his face. One of my only friends, but hey, it's hard to get friends when most people hate the Praetorian household. Hell, even I hate the Praetorian household and I belong to it.

"Why, if it isn't Darcy Fontaine," I say, giving him a smile. Darcy's eyes roam my body, bright blue and so intense. Unlike me, Darcy is thin, so thin he could be a stick. That doesn't mean that he isn't powerful. Next to me and my brothers, he's one of the strongest people I know. And I know a lot of people, even if I don't remember their names.

"Quintus, I haven't seen you in a while, you look…great" he says, raising an eyebrow. We're both pretty tight, and by his voice, he doesn't sound very happy that I haven't spoken to him in a while.

I sigh, "I've been…busy."

"Busy. Seeming I won't get any answers from you, I'll drop it. Besides, aren't you volunteering today? That's the rumour which has been floating around," Darcy says, pushing a hand through his short bronze hair. Unlike me, he looks like a proper District 4 citizen with his tanned skin, perfect hair and brilliant blue eyes.

"Of course," I respond, punching his arm lightly. He laughs, shoving me back a little harder. We continue this until Darcy stops and motions his head across the park. I follow his gaze and it lands on a girl. I recognise her but I can't pick her name out. She walks with elegance and I try to place her but my brain doesn't tell me and I pull a blank.

I shrug at Darcy and he gives out a small chuckle. "You seriously don't remember who she is?"

I shake my head and Darcy raises an eyebrow. There are a few moments of silence between us and then he breaks down laughing, holding his stomach with his bony arms. "Man, that's Sapphire. You know; your girlfriend."

I raise an eyebrow, "Oh yeah."

"Man, do you not remember anything?" he asks, putting a hand on my shoulder to pull himself up to full height.

I shrug again, "What do you expect? I have, what, four, five girlfriends. How am I supposed to know all their names?"

He sighs, his voice light and amused, "Well you are supposed to, by the way."

We talk for a bit longer, leaning up against the tree and messing around. I've missed speaking to Darcy. We have a lot in common, even if my father doesn't approve of our friendship. He doesn't approve mixing with the lower classes, even the middle class which Darcy belongs to. But I don't care; it was a long time ago when I stopped listening to him. Finally, he announces his departure, telling me that I should meet him at the reaping.

He walks off, leaving me in the park. I rest against the tree for a couple of minutes. So, I want to volunteer and I know I am going to, even if my father doesn't let me. So why do I have such a bad feeling about this? I grip the bark, pushing my fingers into the tree. I then let out a few ragged breaths and make myself stand. Now that I'm on my own, I feel achy and tired. Putting my hands on cheek, I feel heat radiating off it. Cassius must have pushed my cheek pretty hard onto the table.

_I will get him back for it_, I think as I walk. I decide that I won't go back to my father's house, as I'd end up in another heated argument, and I choose to see my brother instead. His house is in the slum part of the District. It's full of the poor, crawling around like maggots, and even I don't like these people. I don't understand how he stands living there. However, he didn't really have a choice in the matter, seeing as our father kicked him out. An unworthy son just because he can't get over the murder of his lover and work for our father, showing the dedication which is needed for the job.

Finally I reach the little house. Knocking twice, I wait for him to answer, even though it's only a 50 per cent chance that he actually will come and open the door. I knock again, harder this time, shaking the wooden door. I give out an exasperated sigh before checking the handle. With a sharp tug, it opens up. I simply walk in and close the door behind me.

The air of the house is smoky and the carpet is covered in mud. Each room is messier than the last, bags of rubbish piled up in the hallway. When I get to his room, I open the door and see him there, a cigarette in one hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other. He looks like a tramp, long scraggly brown hair, scruffy facial hair and he's hunched over like a hunchback. He looks up, his eyes watery and far away.

"Fabian, today isn't a day for drinking," I say, staring down at him. He looks up, his eyes distant. With one hand he rubs them and finally his eyes focus on me.

"Quintus?" he asks and he looks like he's been crying. The bags under his eyes are more prominent than ever. However, being me, I'm not the most sympathetic person in the world. _Crying is for weaklings_, I think, wondering whether I should actually tell him that. In the end I decide against it.

"Yes. That's me. Look, I'm going to go take a shower and then hopefully find some reaping clothes around the house. Get yourself sorted," I say, keeping a completely monotone voice before leaving him to his own devices. Going into the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror. There's a massive red mark on my cheek with a bruise about to come through. Shaking my head, I run through a list my favourite weapons, put some money in the water meter, and turn on the shower.

I grab a quick shower and scavenge around the house until I find something which doesn't look half bad. It's a simple gray suit with black shoes that I have to polish myself. Digging around in the pockets, I pick out a pair of shades and put them on so that I look like some sort of spy. When I get to the living room, Fabian doesn't look so shabby. His hair's still a mess and he's not what you'd call clean, but he seems to have managed to make an effort. I give him a nod.

"I'll see you down there, brother," Fabian says as he stands next to me. He knows I'm entering the Games, and even though he also thinks it's a bad idea, he knows he can't change my mind. As I go to leave, I feel him pulling me into a bear hug. We wrestle a little, but it's only light, and when he lets go at long last, I feel a rare tug of emotions.

Compressing them, I give my brother a tight smile and leave the house, walking away from one of the few people who will ever care about me. _I shouldn't be thinking like this,_ I tell to myself which is followed by, _when did you become such a wimp?_

As I reach the reaping area I see a girl just in front of me. I recognise her from my training academy even though we haven't spoken too much. Frankly, I don't even remember her name but to be honest, if they aren't important, I don't remember anyone's name.

She's skinny and of average height for a female of her age which seems to be the same as me, seventeen. Her brown curly hair falls in ringlets down her back and she wears a simple black dress with flats. Not exactly fashionable but she's isn't bad looking. This is the sort of person I'd happily have a one night stand with. With a smile, a thought runs through my head and I smirk. There's nothing that gets me in the mood for a reaping like doing a little flirting beforehand.

"Hey there, beautiful, how would you like to be escorted to by a fine gentleman, like myself?" I call out to her.

She whizzes around to face me, her eyes full of cold fury. Right away a name pops into my head. This is Lush Thistle, another person that hates my guts. Nevertheless, she seems to hate me more than most people. To be honest, even I'm not sure why she hates me so much, maybe I slept with a friend of hers. However, she doesn't look like the person to have many friends.

"I'd rather get speared in the head," she snaps at me. I compress the urge to smirk as my eyes scan her body, taking her in. I'd retort if she didn't look so weak and pathetic.

"Suit yourself," I shrug, looking down at her. I can almost feel her intense glare burning a hole into my soul as she stands there.

A small smirk spreads across her face as she says, "I have to go, you know, win the Hunger Games." She walks briskly away, pushing past me in an arrogant manor.

I snort and try my very best not to snigger. So she wants to volunteer, does she? Well, upsetting the new leader of the careers is not the way to go about it. And besides, she may be a member of the training academy but she's got no chance.

I decide I might try and wind her up further, after all, it's good fun to mess with people. How boring life must be if your nice to everyone. "Yeah, District Four will definitely have a champion this year but it sure as hell isn't going to be you," I yell at her.

She turns her head ever so slightly and called back, "We'll see!"

I watch as she breaks into a full sprint and runs off. "Scared already," I murmur under my breath as I jog to the reaping area. The place is pretty packed and I see Darcy among the group in the 17's male area.

As the Peacekeeper takes my hand and draws some blood, my eyes wander to the stage. The mentor is already there, Brook Waves. She lazes back in the chair, twiddling her hair idly with one hand. She doesn't seem at all bothered by the commotion around her and for a moment, our eyes meet.

She gives me a small smile followed by a wink before her eyes go back to roaming around the other sections. I purse my lips as I ponder over her actions. Maybe she heard I'm going to volunteer this year, maybe she just thinks that I'm another kid, ready for the slaughter. However in my case, I'm going to be the one slaughtering everyone.

Just as the mayor arrives on stage, I make it into position. "Hey guess what?" Darcy whispers into my ear.

I glance to my right with an impish grin, "Turns out you're gay?"

He elbows me, "Ha ha, very funny. Seriously do you want to know?"

"Yeah, obviously," I say.

"Well, then, turns out you're the only male volunteer this year as everyone else is too scared to come forward," he says and I smirk. Everyone knows I'm a player but it's about time everyone knew that I am also the biggest bully around. I'm glad I'm finally getting the respect I deserve.

The mayor finishes off whatever crap he's muttering about and allows our escort onto the stage. She's old and to me, just a sack of skin on bones. Her jet black hair swoops majestically around her and there are a few wolf whistles from the front. Darcy pretends to be sick at the sound of the wolf whistles. I personally can't understand what is attractive about this woman at all. It seems like some of the District likes old Capitol women. Gross.

Her woman's name is Roxanne and she doesn't even bother to introduce herself when she comes forward. "B-before w-we s-st-start the Re-Reaping, here's a v-video f-from the C-Ca-Capitol," is all she says as she clicks a button on a remote.

A video of the uprisings plays but I couldn't care less and amuse myself with looking out for the hidden cameras around the plaza. They must be somewhere; after all, the Capitol wants its juicy gossip on the new tributes. One which will be me. As the video ends, it plays out some of the more…inventive deaths and I smirk. If the Games are anything like them, they'll be good fun.

The video ends and Roxanne makes her way towards the reaping bowl with thousands of slips inside, each one with some lucky person's name on it.

The tension in the area mounts as Roxanne coughs and says, "N-n-now the m-moment you've all b-been w-w-waiting for. It's t-time t-to ch- choose th-the f-female-"

She doesn't even get to the end of the sentence when a girl calls out, "I volunteer!"

My eyes float over to where a girl is marching to the stage, battering a few other girls out the way who are trying to take her glory. She reaches the stage and stands poised, smirking. And guess who it is?

"My name is Lush Thistle," the girl says, interrupting Roxanne's sentence again. I could tell that Roxanne was starting to become a little annoyed by this big headed girl. Hell, that's totally understandable, even I would be getting pissed off by Lush's attitude.

She turns her head slightly and finishes with, "And I'm your next victor."

As she smirks, a silence rains on the audience. People stand there with every expression on their face, from anger, to awe, to surprise.

I snort and Darcy gives out a sound of laughter. Every set of eyes moved from her and onto me. Pushing a smirk onto my face, I point towards the stage, "Her? As Victor? You have to be joking!"

Pushing my way towards the front, I hear Lush's irate voice shouting back at me, "And you think you've got it?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," I say as I get onto the stage. Roxanne doesn't know quite what to do and only looks to the reaping bowl with an expression of confusion. I see her thoughts clearly as though she's saying them. She thinks, _am I supposed to draw a name or just make this the next tribute?_

I give Lush a very irritating smirk and without a second moment of hesitation, she attacks me, running at me and sending a punch my way. I see this in advance and stop her, clamping my hand around her wrist. "There's a time and a place for this," I say, giving her a cocky wink.

If looks could kill, I'd be a dead man. She snarls something which I don't catch and peacekeepers quickly push between us both, making me release her arm from my grip. They then move backwards so that we can be seen properly by both the audience and the Capitol. Lush gives me a glare before turning away.

"So, so th-that i-i-is the en-end of th-e re-re-aping," Roxanne says, looking between the both of us with a mixed look of confusion and worry.

Flexing my arms slightly, I smile. These Games are going to be interesting, that's for sure.


	5. District Five Reapings

**A/N- **And finally here is District Five. I apologise for the wait, first of all I had not received a reply from the original author so we had to find someone new and obviously to be fair I had to give them time to write the reaping. Our next author is The Light Holder so welcome to her! There should no longer be a gap in the updates which is really good, so I hope you like District Five!

* * *

**Rima Vertes, District Five Female**

_**The Light Holder**_

* * *

_Why did the chicken cross the road?_

The chicken crossed the road because it was a stupid creature that didn't realize there was a car driving across the very same road, and stepped across the street without looking both ways. The chicken was then hit by the car and died on impact, all because of its own stupidity.

I'm not like that. Stupid, I mean. It's interesting, because it could be a trait or even just a daily activity that one finds joy in doing, but nonetheless I am not stupid nor do I want to be. It just isn't the sort of thing I could do, or be good at. I think too much to be stupid. Everyone else around me has already absorbed every ounce of stupidity there is; there's none left for me and I'm quite glad about that.

"Rima?"

I turn my head, seeing my mother standing in the doorway. Blue eyes narrowed, dry hair piled atop her head in an attempt at a bun. How she looks most mornings, most days really, unless she finds a reason to clean herself up a little.

"What are you doing out here? It's cold," my mother scolds, glancing around at the outside-world with distaste. I think she wonders why I still do this. If I broke the habit when I was seven, why did it start back up again when I was twelve? She doesn't like it when I come out here in the mornings, which may be part of the reason I still do it. I don't know. I like watching the sun rise. I like the morning air. I like watching people pass the house, onto bigger things and better destinations. But, most of all, I like doing it _alone. _It's ruined once my mother shows up.

_It isn't that cold. _The thoughts never leave my mouth. I stand, walking past my mother back into the house.

"Good morning, Rima," my father calls to me as I pass him in order to get to my room.

"'Morning," I mutter, though I'm positive that I didn't speak loud enough for him to hear me. I don't bother trying again, in preference of getting to my room quicker. I bend around a corner, finding the hallway laid out in front of me and dashing into my room, closing the door behind me.

My room is blue. It's a very pretty blue, a very dark blue as well. When I was younger, I chose the color because it reminded me of my mother's eyes. I wanted to wake up and see the color of her eyes. I wanted to come home and see the color of her eyes, too, since I knew she wouldn't off work at either of those times. But now that I'm older... I just like the color because it's dark. Almost black, at a certain lighting, but the morning light has made it more visibly blue. I'm alright with that. If I wasn't, I would have torn the paint right off the walls.

After a few minutes of silence and thinking, I decide it would be best if I got dressed earlier. I'm allowed outside when I have a jacket on, and I really do want to go back out there before the reaping begins.

I search my closet in a rush, grabbing a black dress and throwing it on without really examining it at all. Whatever. Odds are that it will fit me. I've been the same size since I was about eleven, and most of my old clothes still fit. It's great sometimes, to never have to worry about having nothing to wear, but the actual fact that I haven't grown is just maddening.

I glance at the long mirror leaning against one of my navy walls, happy with the dress but once again irritated at my smallness. My hair tumbles down my back, bangs overlapping my sight _just _enough to make it a nuisance. I hastily grab a few rubber bands, wrapping my hair up into a bun once I've found them.

Though my dress is already long-sleeved, I wear a thin jacket over it for my parent's sake. Sliding on some white shoes, I slowly twist the doorknob, hoping that I'm quiet enough to the point that they don't hear me leaving. That would make everything much easier, if I didn't even have to explain where or why I'm going so early. My parents _maybe _would care once they realized I'd left, but more out of anger than anything. Always anger, with them.

I turn around the corner again, hoping my father has gone off to a different room by now. Luckily for me, he has. I make my way across the room, across the house until the door is in front of me. I reach for the knob, holding onto it and prepared to twist, when a harsh voice interrupts me.

"Rima, where are you going?" I crane my neck over to see both of my parents, though it was my mother who spoke.

"Out."

"Out? To where?"

"With friends," I lie, avoiding part of the question. The words slip out so smoothly that I doubt my parents caught it.

Father furrows his eyebrows. "That's alright, I think. Right, Karin? It is the reaping day, after all."

My mother obviously isn't content with the thought of me having a social life or friends, but after a moment's hesitation she waves it off. "Yes... you can go, Rima. Come back a little before the reaping so we can walk together." I nod as a response, slowly walking out the door and closing it behind me once I'm finally outside.

I stand in front of the home, examining everything around it. My house isn't really in a neighborhood. It's located very close to all the shops and stands, which is sometimes convenient but mostly just odd, since everyone knows where I live and the majority of the district passes my home on a daily basis. Every now and then someone stops at our house and asks us for directions, which my father cheerfully gives them.

I don't really like it here, in this spot. I don't like people looking at me and I don't like people always being around me. It get annoying. But in the early mornings, the_ really_ early mornings... I absolutely love living here. I love all the things that I hate afterwards. To be fair, I'm a little bit loopy when I'm still tired, and I tend to love everything. Even people bothering my house.

As if on cue, two girls walk past me. They're older than me, obviously seventeen or eighteen, both incredibly tall wearing extremely short dresses while chatting animatedly. One has short, pixie-cut blonde hair with a very thin face, and the other has bright red hair tied back into a sleek ponytail. The blonde breaks the conversation and stares at me for a moment, before tapping the redhead's shoulder. The blonde says something, and then they _both _look my way.

Uncomfortable under their eyes, I take a few steps closer to the girls.

_Don't look at me, don't look at me, don't look at me... stop looking at me!_

"Are you stupid?" my question spills out in a calm, collected manner, which I believe only confuses the girls more.

The redhead's striking eyes widen. "What?"

"Are you stupid?" I repeat, glaring at them even though I'm much shorter than both of them, and probably look ridiculous. "Staring is rude, you know."

They don't say anything, and immediately, I mark them as idiots. If you don't even have a proper answer to _are you stupid?_ then you are quite obviously stupid. See what I mean about stupidity? It's everywhere. It's like a snake, chasing me time after time but never being able to catch and constrict me.

I shuffle past the girls, not bothering to look back. Instead, I focus on the question of where to go. I have a while before the reaping, and I most definitely don't want to go back home. I don't have anywhere in particular I need to visit... but I am a little hungry. Yes, hungry... I'll have something to eat and then I'll go on a walk.

I turn my direction towards the shops, determined to waltz into that bakery and buy some damn food. I begin my brisk walk, just entering the wide range of shops when I stop short, realizing that I never brought any money.

_Whatever. I wasn't that hungry anyway. No, I'm not hungry. Really._

But, I will still take a walk. I can still look at all of the shops, see what kinds of things I can buy the next time I have spare money.

So I don't change direction. I continue walking forward, avoiding the few people on the streets at this time. Most are scattered around the district, spending time with their families and friends so that they will have a few extra memories in the rare case that they're reaped. I'm not like that. I'm not like _them_. I don't need my family, and I don't need friends. I'm perfectly satisfied with being alone. And while others get lonely when they're in my type of situation, _I_ don't.

I stop, taking a step backwards and peeking into one shop's window.

I see dolls. There are toys everywhere, but I can only see the dolls.

There are a lot of different dolls in the shop. Some are pretty, some are ugly. Some have bright pink dresses, short like the two girls I talked to earlier, and some have long, lacy old-fashioned dresses. A few dolls have ponytails or buns, but the majority have braided hair. Different lengths and colors for the hair, too.

The dolls are... interesting. I don't like them, but they're interesting.

_No, they're not. They're children's toys; stupid and meaningless._

I don't know why I'm standing here, wasting my time with these stupids things. I don't have time for this. I have better things to do, _much _more important things.

"Do you like the dolls?"

I shriek at the sudden voice, whipping my head around. I expect to see some creepy old man, but am instead greeted by the sight of a boy, looking to be around my age, with a huge, _stupid_ grin plastered on his pale face. Around his face are little black curls. His hair is made _up_ of little black curls, I discover once I examine his head.

After a minute of examination, I regain focus on the situation. Narrowing my eyes, I open my mouth to speak but am interrupted by the boy. "Did I scare you? Sorry." The boy pats the top of my head, his smile only growing wider.

"Stop." I order, swatting his hand and taking a step away from him. He laughs, but doesn't disrupt the new-found distance.

The boy studies me for a moment, before snapping his fingers as if he's just found the answer to some highly complicated problem. "I know you! You go to my school, I think."

"Good to know." I mumble, though I don't think he hears me. I don't care, anyway.

"I don't know your name, though," the boy sighs. "Mine's Elliot."

"Rima," I say, just loud enough for him to hear, though I don't really mind if he did or not. My eyes drift towards the dolls once more, though I'm not certain what about these things I find so interesting.

_Dolls are stupid, remember? Do I want to be stupid?_

"Do you like them?" Elliot asks.

"What?"

"Do you like them?" he repeats, walking closer to the window and looking at the toys for himself. "The dolls, I mean."

"No." I answer instantly, turning my head and refusing to look at the things. Elliot remains positioned in front of the shop, smiling stupidly at the stupid things in the stupid shop.

"Really? You looked like you liked them." Elliot says innocently, though I can just _tell_ that he meant it as if I was lying. Why does he bother to question me over _dolls_, of all things? Why does he even bother to talk to me at all? I don't need him here, and I certainly don't want him here. So why is he? I don't want anyone here.

I want to be alone.

"Are you an idiot?" I snap, causing Elliot to glance over at me, surprise clearly registered on his face. "If I say I don't like them, I don't like them. Believe me when I say things, you moron."

Elliot raises an eyebrow. "Angry, huh?"

"Leave!" I shout, making _shoo-shoo, leave now _motions with my hands. Elliot shrugs, taking one last look at the dolls in the window before skipping off, not seeming to care that he wreaks havoc anywhere he goes and that he's a blubbering idiot.

_He's stupid. The dolls are stupid. Everything and everyone around me is stupid._

I wait for a little while, to make sure that Elliot isn't coming back, then continue on my way down the road.

I pass shop after shop, but not one peaks my interest like the toy shop. I don't really know why I even stopped at the shop full of dolls. The shop was a bright yellow, which did stick out a bit, but I hate yellow. I hate most bright colors; darkness attracts me. Dark things and dark colors suit me better, I think. Dark colors stand out more against my pale skin, and my walls _are_ painted dark blue. Come to think of it, the district is a bit dark right now. The clouds block the sun, casting a slight shadow throughout the district. Dark.

Abruptly, I stop walking. What time is it, again? What time was I supposed to be home? Would it be smarter to go home right now?

Yes... yes, I think it would be. And basically, whatever I think _is _right, so going home right now might be the best answer. If I think it is, then it simply must be. I turn on my heel, heading towards the direction of my home. It's a good thing that I didn't get too far along in my walk, or I would have had quite a bit of a walk back home in store for me.

Halfway home. I see groups and groups of people heading towards the square, obviously wandering over to the reapings. I start to walk a little faster. I won't bother with running, since I'm awfully slow and get tired too quick anyways.

"Excuse me," I mutter, pushing past a few small children, probably twelve-year-olds, as I hop onto my porch. I push open the front door, fear rising up inside me when I find both my mother and father glaring at me.

"You're _late_," Mother hisses, coming towards me and yanking on my hand. "Come on, we must get going."

"Sorry."

"Whatever. Let's go."

My mother continues to tug on my hand as we walk, but not in a motherly manner and definitely not gently. Her nails, painted red, dig into my small hand. The polish reminds me of blood.

She and my father walk too fast for me. They always have.

"Walk faster, Rima. We can't keep slowing ourselves down just for you."

"Okay."

Our walk to the reaping is absolutely silent. The whispers and footsteps of others surround us, but mostly everyone is quiet. They're all nervous, all anxious to get this over with and be safe for another year. But always, the underlying fear will remain: _what if I'm reaped? _I'm positive that every District Five citizen between the ages of twelve and eighteen worries about this. Parents must worry about it as well, the thought that their child could be thrown into a death match simply because of one little slip.

It's all terrifying to think about, really.

"We'll see you in a little while," the tight grip on my hand loosens, before letting go completely. I pause, staring at the fingernail indents on my hand for a few moments. It hurt. It hurt a lot...

_Stop being a stupid baby about it. Grow up._

I snap back into reality, scrambling to take a place in line.

"Hand," a Peacekeeper orders. I hold my hand out, closing my eyes and preparing for the sting. _Zip. _My eyes open wide at the pain, and I stare at the blood trailing off my hand when the Peacekeepers gently shoves me along, as a reminder that there are others behind me. I begin to walk over to my section, but hear a faint squeal from behind, probably from a twelve-year-old that didn't realize there was blood involved.

The fourteen-year-old section is somewhat orderly-looking. I wouldn't call it clean, really, but it's definitely an improvement from the thirteen-year-old section last year. I immediately wander to the rear of the section, acquiring a small space in the midst of the back row.

I can _kind of _see okay if I stand on the tips of my toes, anyway.

I catch sight of the mayor walking up onto the stage, and I can hear his footsteps quite clearly since the entire district has quieted down, both dreading and anxious to hear who the new tributes will be.

He begins to read through the Treaty of Treason, seeming to drag it out a bit longer than usual, perhaps since he's nervous. I don't really know, which irritates me, but now is the time that my mind scrambles. The reaping, as in during the actual event, is most likely the only time anyone will _ever _see the fear practically jutting out of my features.

Because, yes, I am afraid. I'm very afraid.

"So boring," the boy in front of me whispers to his friend, who nods in agreement.

I, on the other hand, listen to the Treaty of Treason, though I've grown tired of it from listening so many times. I manage to catch the words as they come, but can't seem to remember them any longer than five seconds after they've been uttered. Damn.

District Five's _very own_ escort, Antonia Gilder, hops onto the stage once our mayor finishes, beaming like a madwoman. Her appearance is one that you tend to remember, most likely showing up in your nightmares: dark blonde hair formed into spikes, overly-puffed-out lips, and unattractively bright tattoos of flowers popping against dark skin to tie the look together oh-so-beautifully.

Fear starts to take control from that point on. I sort of tune everything out just naturally when I'm in this state, just staring at the ground, fear and worry so vivid in my mind, pounding in my head, that I can't pay attention to anything very effectively.

I crash back into reality when I realize that it's practically dead-silent. Some sort of shuffling noise, though, like a hand scraping against paper.

"Rima Vertes!"

_What?_

A path clears for me, and in mere seconds everyone's eyes are planted right on _me. _Mean eyes, small eyes, and kind eyes alike, all focused on only one person.

_Please stop looking at me._

I take a small step forward, attempting to paint an angry expression onto my face. I don't know how well it works, all I'm aware of is all of the stupid staring. Everyone is looking at me; everyone is looking at the little girl that's always alone being sent to her death.

Antonia smiles at me once I'm closer to the stage, but I don't return it. It's tough to maintain my poker face, first of all, though I don't believe I would smile back at her anyway. It just isn't in my nature, to be so friendly and trusting of others. I don't know how other people do it. I don't know why they do it, either, since it's a pretty stupid trait.

I don't know much of anything right now. I'm... numb. With shock or fear, I don't know. I just don't_ know._

Once I've mounted the stage, Antonia reaches into the boys' bowl. After a bit of playing around with the slips, her fingers grab hold of and tighten on one in particular. She brings it out of the bowl, reading it over once before speaking into the microphone. "Ryan Jenkins!"

I recognize the name. I'm positive that everyone recognizes the name. How could you not know of Ryan Jenkins, the son of both the Head Peacekeeper _and _one of Five's few Victors? He lives like I do; out in the open, where everyone knows exactly where he lives. The only difference is that people hardly ever pass the Victor's Village, whereas most citizens walk by my house everyday.

Ryan emerges from the fifteen-year-olds, his face completely and utterly blank. I watch him slowly stalk over to the stage, ignoring everyone's gazes and just staring straight ahead. He takes his place beside me, managing to maintain the look throughout the entire ordeal.

As my insides begin to thaw out, Antonia announces Ryan and me as District Five's tributes. Ryan holds out his hand in an almost robotic fashion, blatantly waiting for me to reciprocate and shake hands with him. After a moment's hesitation, I do. As soon as my hand makes contact with his, however, Ryan's face changes. His lips curl into a strange, joyful smile which he immediately tries to suppress.

I let go of his hand as soon as I'm allowed to, a little bit worried about the boy but not nearly as worried as I am for myself.

Antonia leads us into the Justice Building, dropping us off for the Peacekeepers to deal with. One of them, a rather tall man with yellowy-blonde hair guilds me into a small room, not saying a word the entire time. He shuts the door softly, leaving me alone in the room, my eyes planted into the ground.

I don't know whether to cry or scream.

_Both?_

"Rima." I'm surprised to hear my mother's rough voice pierce the silence of the room, and I perk my head up in amazement.

"Mother." I address her, the shock that they actually came to say goodbye at all seeping into my words. I switch my attention to my father, whose face crumples as he lets out a sob.

"Rima, will you at least try?" Mother asks me, rubbing my father's shoulder as he continues to cry.

I don't answer for a moment. "Yes," I eventually reply, taking a step towards my father, almost experimentally. Nervously, I reach out. I don't know why I reach out, I don't even know if I had much control over the action, but my father grasps my pale hand and holds it against his cheek.

The Peacekeeper that brought me into this place peeks his head into the room, looking almost as if he regrets interrupting us. "Time's up."

"Liar," my mother barks, glaring at the man. He narrows his eyes at her, looking much more annoyed than angry. "Time's up. You have to leave. Now." Father lets go of my hand. It drops to my side, hanging there, limp. My mother takes his hand in hers, glancing at me once more before my parents are shoved out of the room.

"We love you so much, Rima!"

_Love_. I haven't felt love in a very long time. When I was little, I felt love. I felt love for everything - for my parents, for school, for my toys. I loved everything so much, I felt like I could fly away. But then, as I grew older, I realized... that love it stupid. Love is another form of stupidity, but more dangerous. Love makes you do unnecessary things for people you 'love'. Love brainwashes you and makes you do things you normally wouldn't do, just because you love that one person _so _much. Love hurts you as well. It hurts and it burns and it aches, yet people still put up with it.

_Love is stupid. Emotions are stupid. People are stupid._

Everything is so fucking stupid.

* * *

**Ryan Jenkins, District Five Male**

_**Aspect1**_

* * *

The crystal ballerina is beautiful. Her refined face facing upwards, her soulless eyes staring at the ceiling and her arms reaching up to the sky. Her back arches gracefully and she balances on only one leg. The epitome of elegance.

It is even more beautiful when she smashes to pieces on the floor and paints my sister's feet in crimson.

Alice starts bawling immediately. I skirt the crystal fragments and try to sooth her, pulling out my big brother act. Our parents come running from the kitchen and skid to a halt when they see what has happened.

"Alice!"

"Ryan!"

One is concerned, the other is inflamed. Mother strides right over to me as father bends down and carries Alice.

"What did you do to your sister?!" mother demands.

Her cheeks are flushed and she has jabbed a finger in Alice's direction. She looks extremely frustrated and exasperated. Unsurprising. This has not been the first time.

"Milica!" my father snaps. "This is _not_ the time! We have to bring Alice to a doctor first!"

Mother sucks in a deep breath and exhales. She takes one step back and I relax a little. Perhaps she will not hit me. And then, my head snaps to the right. I have been slapped.

"Milica!" Father sounds strained.

"I've had it Ryan. This will be the last time you ever mistreat your sister, you got it?"

"Mi-" father insists but mother cuts him off by putting up one hand.

"Yohan, let me say this. It has to be said." Mother's glare intensifies and I shrink under it. From behind her, the door shuts, signifying that father has left with Alice. "Ryan, she is your younger sister for god's sake! What has she ever _done_ to you? Maybe...maybe...it's us. What have we done? Speak to me, Ryan! Speak to me! I-I don't know where we screwed up. You used to be so..."

She dissolves in tears. Guilt pricks at my heart and I blink back tears of my own. It is not as if I wanted things to be like this! Everything was perfect until _she_ came along. Everything. Without Alice, nothing would have changed. But she had to be born. She had to!

How can I tell mother that I hate Alice though? That it is not them, that it is her, that it is that sorry excuse for a sister's fault! Each time I see her, all I want to do is just rip her apart and break her so mercilessly. The rage that almost always takes control of me is so hard to control. I try not to act on those feral instincts though. Instead, they appear in short bursts which usually result in Alice being hurt in some sort of way and I acting like the innocent.

"Ryan?" I reach out to touch mother's shoulder. She cringes when she sees it coming. I flinch. Does my touch now repulse her? "Don't think your big brother act fools me. Yohan maybe but I know better."

Then she leaves, door slamming shut after her wake. I am left staring at the blood on the marble floor. Alice's blood, Alice's life. How delightful it will be to drain every single last bit out of her. Mother's last look of desperation she shot me before she ran from the house remains in my mind though. Just what on earth...have I done?

It was never meant to be like that! Everything was...everything was...everything was...what? A scream tears itself out of my throat and leaves me hoarse. I hate it! I hate it all! Everything has been a colossal mess since that wench's birth! If only she was dead. But father and mother would know. They would know I killed her because I am sure that father knows more than he is letting on. The one difference is that he believes in me.

Or maybe he is just in denial. Denial that his son, his once sweet son has turned out to be such a monster. For all I know, he may even know I killed Ell. The girl everyone is-was convinced I was going to marry in future.

I punch the part of the floor covered in blood and some of it splatters on me. I grimace. The last thing I want is _her_ blood on me. I wipe it off then head into the kitchen to find a wet cloth to clean it. I think mother did mention once that bloodstains were awfully hard to clean though.

Whatever.

As today is the day of the reaping, my usual routine has been disrupted. A normal morning consists of waking up in the early morning to eat breakfast, maybe create some trouble for my sister, then heading into town to visit my best friend's mother and finally her grave. But mother has specially made sure that I do none of those at all this morning. She made it clear last night and angering her right after I wake up is the last thing I want to do. I failed rather horribly in that though, evidently.

I go up to my room to change. I stand in front of the closet and stare at my clothes. For the past three years, I have been wearing the same thing to the reaping; a grey jacket, red shirt and black jeans. I draw them out and toss them onto my bed. Even though most children in District Five rarely have to take tesserae, I never once had to because my father is the Head Peacekeeper of the district.

Instead of changing, I flop onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I move myself inwards, to the wall, and my left hand brushes against the empty space beside me. Ell used to lie there. We would lie on the same bed and talk. Not once did we make eye contact during those times. Instead, we would train our gaze onto the ceiling and simply revel in feeling the other.

We did it anywhere we could get privacy. Thankfully, my family left my room alone. Our most common places were my bedroom and hers. We did this so often together and added with the fact that we were together almost the entire day, her presence was a constant one in my life. And now, she was gone.

It feels odd. Even though six months have passed since her death, I still expect to see her each time I turn over. There is still that...no...I haven't let go yet. Six months are too short. Even now, I still grief. There's this irreplaceable hole in my heart.

I want her back.

I press my lips together to stop the sob from escaping and I squeeze my eyes shut. My memories of her are still there. I still hear her laughter, I can still see her radiant smile, I remember all of her. She's still there with me.

"Ell..."

I am freezing. My body is slowly turning to stone and my breathing is more laboured. Time seems to be slowing to a standstill. Everything is coming to a stop. And then, I hear my name.

"Ryan."

It breaks me from my paralysis. I open my eyes and find myself staring into those melancholic looking nut brown eyes of my father's. What is he doing here? He was supposed to be with Alice.

He sighs and sits down on the empty space of my bed. His hand reaches out to mine and grasps it. A soft smile breaks out onto my lips. I miss this. How father would hold my hand, how his hand exuded warmth that spread to all of me. When I was young, he would hold my hand and guide me. It was especially fun during winter. Sometimes, he would let me walk straight into a snowdrift because I was too busy looking up at him. Mother would scold him after, when we came back and I was covered in snow.

His thumb rubs over the back of my hand and it comforts me. Father has never known the right things to say, so instead he settles for silence. Yet, the way he gives his support is done in such a way that is so reassuring. It is so uniquely...father's.

"Ryan, I don't know why you do what you do to your sister." I tense. Was this comfort in the end just a cover-up for what he really wants to tell? "Or maybe I do but I'm too much of a coward to face the truth. Still, no matter what, I will never abandon you."

Tears spring to my eyes. Common sense dictates that Alice's current situation needed more attention but father still came back for me. He came back just to tell me that.

And it means the whole world to me.

By now, I am crying like a baby. My father chuckles and continues holding my hand. He is there. Mother may have disappeared from me, too taken with the sweet little angel that is my sister but father is still here.

"Ryan, you will get over Ell's death one day. It won't be now, but it'll definitely be in the future." Father's tone becomes a lot heavier. His eyes darken and he seems to be reflecting on something. It is a while before he speaks again. "The loss of a beloved is always painful."

No one knows what I know but it is better this way. I appreciate what father says but can time take away the guilt I carry?

"Thank you," I say. One must still express his gratitude.

Father smiles but it is a lot wearier this time. I can tell that he is exhausted. There has been a spate of 'attacks' recently. 'Attacks' because they can hardly be called one. All I know is that they are incredibly chaotic. Several people have been caught but father has a feeling they aren't the true perpetrator and so lets them go.

He takes his hand away and stands up.

"I'm going to take a short nap," he murmurs and then leaves.

How rare yet expected. Father must really be tired to sleep at this time of the day.

Now I get up and change. I glance at the clock and freeze. No, no, no. It is not like that day. It is not. I suck in a deep breath and exhale, trying to calm myself down. It works a little. I will always hate nine in the morning. Always.

I walk to where the reaping is being held with Alice. Our parents are lagging behind though on purpose. Alice's hand grips mine and I hold hers in return. It revolts me but I am doing it to continue leading the district people on. They only know who I choose to display.

Those my age give us a wide berth. The older ones however, simply cannot care or they are too taken in by the sweet smile sitting complacently on Alice's face. The younger ones are the same. I catch a glare from Alice when she realises that the main reason why the fifteen year olds are avoiding us is because of me. Interesting, I never knew she relished in the attention. All the better, I can use this to break her.

My train of thought is interrupted when a familiar hand places itself on my shoulder.

"Ryan," someone greets me gruffly.

It can only be Ell's father, Michael. I smile and turn around to face him. He is tanned and boasts an imposing figure. In fact, he bears a little resemblance to my father, their hair colour, dark brown, and eyes being the same. Ell and I would use to say that they were actually half brothers.

Beside him stands his wife, Julie. She is fair-skinned and wispy strands of white-blond hairs strays from her bun. She looks...gaunt. The emerald green eyes she shares with Ell that were once bright are now melancholic and reflective. I swallow. This is my fault. Even Michael looks grim.

But...this is better right? It's better not to have the fear that their child may be reaped right? It's better having their child die at home then in the arena right?

Still, I say nothing of that sort. Before I can greet them however, Alice interjects, much to my annoyance.

"Hi Uncle Michael, Aunt Julie!" she chirps. What I wouldn't give just to kill her right now.

"Hi." my smile feels so forced.

"May the odds be ever in your favour," Michael tells me heavily. When we speak it, it is not the in the cheerful, clueless tone of the Capitol. It is genuine for us. Most of us anyway. Some are insane enough to want to volunteer in the revolting Hunger Games.

They leave and Alice breaks away to join mother. As father is Head Peacekeeper, he is right at the front controlling all the other Peacekeepers. I smile to myself as I stand in front of one such subordinate. She pricks my finger and I press it onto the piece of paper, leaving a blood print. She scans it and then waves me on. Father has always discouraged me from becoming a Peacekeeper, saying that it will be a life I will hate.

I move to stand in the group of fifteens and take my place near the aisle. Mindless chatter fills my age group but the atmosphere is tense. Everyone is talking to displace their worry. I glance over at the girls' section and see the same thing happening. I merely sigh and shake my head and ball my hands into fists. Admittedly, I am a little nervous. Even though my name has been into the accursed reaping bowl four times, the fact still stands that I _can_ get reaped.

My attention turns inward as the usual proceedings start. Each year, it is the same thing. The propaganda the Capitol feeds us is useless to me but it feels as if the Career districts eat it up. I mean, look at how eager they are to volunteer. It's disgusting.

I watch the escort, Antonia Gilder, bounce up to the stage. As usual, she is the personification of the Capitol. Spiked dark blond hair, dark skin, puffy lips coated in some repulsive colour, and bright flower tattoos printed all over her arms and legs. I grimace.

Her hand searches through the female's reaping glass bowl and pulls out a slip of paper. She unfolds it and then speaks, all the while with that little ditzy grin.

"Our female tribute is Rima Vertes!" she announces. She claps while the square stays deathly silent.

The escort prances over to the male reaping glass bowl and after searching around in it for a few moments, she draws out a slip of paper. I suck in a deep breath and steel myself. If I were to be picked, it would be my…

"Ryan Jenkins!"

Judgment.

The boys around me shift uneasily and part to let me through. I wipe all expression off my face but I am laughing inside. I got picked! I got selected! I was reaped! A smirk threatens to make itself known but I push it back. No one can know my real feelings. No one will know my true feelings.

I reach the stage and Antonia grins.

"Now please give a huge round of applause for District Five's newest tributes!" Antonia crows as she grins. "Now shake hands you two!"

Suddenly, I am aware of myself bursting into a jubilant grin. I grit my teeth and struggle to bring it back under control. No one can know my thoughts. No one! And then, the handshake ends and we are led into the Justice Building, silence following us.

I do not have to wait long before father steps in…alone. It surprises me. I thought all of them would come together.

"Alice wants to talk to you alone. Milica insisted that she came with her but Alice was adamant about it so all of us are coming in separately," father explains.

It hurts that mother doesn't want to come in with father. I have no idea why. There is just this strange ache in my heart. Father sits beside me on the bed and grips my hand once more. It is warm, just like him, but it is also trembling a little. My eyes widen in realisation. He is frightened.

Father hugs me and leans his chin on top of my head. It soothes me a little and I realised I am afraid. Even me who could kill his dearest friend am afraid of the Hunger Games. My grip tightens on father. In there, I would be alone with no support.

"I don't want to lose you, Ryan," father murmurs.

How can someone as sentimental as him be the Head Peacekeeper? The father I know is someone kind and warm. He is reflective and rather melancholic and he cherishes all the little things of life. And yet, he is the Head Peacekeeper and he deals with law-breakers harshly and swiftly.

Once, I saw him punish a child for stealing. His expression then was anger but I saw the anguish in his eyes. He hated his job but he still did it. Why?

"I only became Head Peacekeeper after Milica told me she was pregnant with you. You see, I wanted to protect you from the Hunger Games and I thought that if I became the Head Peacekeeper, you wouldn't have to be reaped for the Games." He barks out a bitter laugh. "But it backfired."

And it breaks my heart. Father went through all that for me and now, for Alice as well but in the end, it was all futile. Ell once told me that my father had always seemed kind of sad and depressed. It was as if he was doing something that caused him a lot of grief but he still did it, she said.

She was right.

Father releases me and stands up. He leans down and presses his lips against my forehead.

"I love you," he says.

Then he leaves without even waiting for my reply. Is it because if he hears those words from me, he may hurt even more? Or is it because he already knows my answer? A parent's love is…boundless.

I wish I had gotten to know him better.

It is silence until mother steps in. Wordlessly, she hands me a silver bracelet that has two charms hanging from it; a heart and an 'E'. The 'E' is cursive and one look at it tells me it's supposed to represent Ell.

"Julie asked me to put it onto the bracelet. She and Michael will visit Ell's grave for you today

Ell used to wear that on a necklace. It would hang low, near her chest and each time she caught me staring at it, she would tease me. One day, she asked me if I wanted it. I said that I couldn't take it because it was a part of her. It defined the Ell I knew.

I never imagined it would come to me through this way.

My grip on the bracelet tightens and I slip it onto my right wrist, the one that holds more scars, the one that Ell would caress and kiss while her dark forest green orbs brimmed with tears. The bracelet is a perfect fit. The metal is cool against my skin and reminds me of the tears she would shed.

How, she would ask, can I derive joy from pain? And my reply would be that that pain I felt was one that was full of joy and not pain.

Soft, warm lips press against my forehead and lift. I look up to meet mother's eyes and she hugs me. She whispers something into my left ear and my eyes widen. Mother straightens and turns to leave. My hand reaches out to grasp the hem of her white shirt and it escapes me. Something fractures even more inside of me.

She stops and turns, her eyes hooded.

"I love you Ryan," she says.

And just like father, she is gone from me, except, the words actually manage to reach her this time. The last thing I see of her is that fleeting smile which reaches her eyes. It never has, not for a long time until now.

Alice enters next. When she comes in with that little devilish grin on her face, my melancholic mood is destroyed instantly and replaced with a murderous one. But I restrain myself from acting on the urge and plaster on a smile that feels as if it will break my face.

"Oh drop the act brother," she chirps.

She continues pacing up and down but it is done leisurely and with that know-it-all smirk. She is trying to assert her dominance over me. Fat hope.

I snort and stretch myself out on the bed. Is her three minute visit going to be games again?

"At last you drop your sweet little sister act," I sneer. "It's disgusting you know."

"So that means brother is disgusting as well right? I mean, look at you always being kind to the others in the district when it's all just an act. When you're actually unstable! I bet you killed Ell."

The comment about Ell hits home rather sharply but I don't let that show. Talking with Alice always riles me up. Now that I am a tribute for the Hunger Games, I'm going to make sure I break her so much until she cannot even pull herself back together. After all, who knows if I will come back?

"You're one to talk," I retort. "I saw your room once. You cut up every single one of those stuffed toys father and mother gave you. _You_ are insane enough to gouge out a stray cat's eyes."

I grit my teeth. This is why I hated her. She deceives everyone with her sweet act when in reality she is a cruel person with no concern about other people.

"THAT'S BECAUSE YOU TOUCHED ALL THOSE STUFFED TOYS!" she screeches. "THOSE ARE MINE! MINE! BUT YOU TOUCHED THEM! WHAT OTHER CHOICE DO I HAVE OTHER THAN TO RIP THEM APART SO THAT THEY'LL BE MINE FOREVER?!"

I jump at the decibel of her volume and she snarls. She jumps up onto the bed and presses me down. She surprisingly has quite a lot of strength for a seven year old.

"I'm so glad you were reaped for the Hunger Games," she hisses and trails one long fingernail down my left cheek. She digs into it and I growl. If I must, I will kill her. End it once and for all. "If not then I'll have to kill father. You're always fighting for his and mother's attention. Mother never gives you the time of the day but father does! Why do father and mother _even_ want you? You're always hurting me, always doing all sort of things to make me cry, make me bleed. And then you act like a big brother. I'm so glad that you were reaped for the Hunger Games. I hope you never come back because that way, father and mother will be mine forever."

The only thing that sticks out to me in her tirade is that she wants to kill father.

"Why would you want to kill father?" I rasp. Her hand has suddenly moved down to my throat and while I could quite easily throw her off, my sister's insanity scares me a little and I do not know what she could do next…what she will do next.

"If I kill father, he'll be mine forever…right?" She lets out a little deranged chuckle.

"Why-"

"Why am I so twisted?" she interrupts. Her lips curve into a smile and her eyes start to glaze. "It's because of you brother. You're always hurting me, leaving me in agony while laughing all the while. And since I'm always with you since young, why not learn and pick it up? Why not grow to hate you and then think of _all_ the ways I can use to tear you apart?"

She stops leaning over me and sits up. I immediately gasp for air and oxygen fills me again. We fall silent and we lock eyes with each other. My sister is the spitting image of me, sandy blond hair and dark forest green eyes with fair skin. I wonder if she could be my alter ego. It certainly seems like it. And it seems that unlike me, she would kill anyone in cold blood if it means keeping what is hers.

I narrow my eyes. I finally understand her better but why would she harm a cat? Is she really that…off the edge?

"Why did you gouge out the eyes of the cat at that time when you were five?" I ask.

"It bit the hand of my doll from mommy. I couldn't possibly let it go right?" she giggles and then gets off me.

I sit up and then look at her. Her hands are behind her back and she has this innocent smile, her default expression, sitting complacently on her face. I used to think nothing of it but now I know better. I can see the slight craziness in it.

"It's already three minutes so I'll be off now brother! Oh and one more thing, please die in there all right?" She opens the door and skips out of the room, the door slamming shut in her wake, pulled by her hand.

It's like she's asking me to die for her.


	6. District Six Reapings

**A/N- **Halfway point in the reapings! Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing this, and I hope you enjoy this chapter and those still to come :D

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**District11-Olive A/N- **Hi! For those of you who don't remember me I am Olive :D I am very excited to be starting another project alongside some of the fabulous authors from Thirteen and many newcomers! This is my tribute Greylyn and I hope you all have some sort of opinion of her :3 enjoy!

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**Greylyn Conway, District Six Female**

_**District11-Olive**_

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"Dear, your Mother requests for you to be ready and downstairs within the hour."

I turn my head towards the doorway where the woman's voice comes from. The fine toothed comb I hold catches in the tangle of wet hair and I wince at the pain that begins to ache on my skull. The woman at the door smiles and her skirt ripples around her legs like waves as she walks over to me, taking the comb out of my hand. She leads me to a chair in front of floor length mirror that sits in the corner of my room and my nightgown fans out around me as I seat myself on the stool. The comb pulls softly at my curls but I manage to keep my face blank and uncluttered with the pained expression I feel inside. The woman smiles back at me, her lips parting warmly and her eyes softening as she gazes upon me. A sharp tug releases yet another tangle from my hair and I flinch, my eyes squinting from the pressure.

"Don't squint your eyes dear," she says absentmindedly, her eyes still trained on the comb that continues to run through the thick curls. "It will cause crow's feet."

I open my light grey eyes fully and she nods approvingly before returning to her work. I gaze around my room, my eyes wandering from the tossed sheets on my bed to the clean, white dress that hangs on the knob of my closet. The dress that my Mother purchased for me earlier this month in preparation for my first Reaping. The first year that I would not be sitting in a chair alongside my Mother and Father, looking outwards to the hundreds of district children that were all eagerly awaiting the moment they would be allowed to leave the Square. I never quite felt the same angst for the ceremony, more a sense of boredom as the same video played through the district and the chirping voice of our Escort chattered on about the previous Hunger Games. I understand why everyone's scared of them, but I have never had to fear for myself or anyone close to me. I had grown up as an only child, my only real accompaniment was that of a girl my age named Vivian. She is the only daughter of my Father's executive assistant and she is a fairly nice girl but we definitely are not the best of friends. Otherwise I grew up in the presence of mainly adults, such as my Aunt and parents. I've never had to worry about myself or any of them being Reaped until this year, when both Vivian and I will have our names in the Reaping bowl.

I cannot help my shoulders from flinching as my Aunt pulls sharply on the comb, taking a couple strands of my brown hair away in its teeth. She shakes her head in disapproval and I downcast my eyes to the spotless white carpeting of my bedroom. She finally finishes and sets the comb down on my dresser as she exits the room, closing the door almost silently behind her. My ears pick up the small clacking of her shoes as she descends the stairs and I let out the breath I'd been holding.

No matter how much I love my Aunt, I am never quite able to discern the regal air that makes her seem much more important than she is. The fluency of her steps that always seem to make perfect time in a rhythm of shoe clicks. The perfect, oval face that is always presented with a slight grin, giving her the quiet confidence that I so wish I could display masterfully. I've many times before attempted to gather her social secrets, though each time I'd been told not to pry so much, for it is unbecoming of a girl my age. I've been told that so often that the phrase has been drilled into my memory, reminding me each time I do something that would be frowned upon in my family. It is for the best though, I mustn't bring shame upon my Father or the position he holds.

I rise from my stool and step over to the hanger on which my Reaping dress hangs, handling it with delicate fingers so that I might not crumple the sheer fabric. I set it down on the sheets of my bed and carefully remove the nightgown I had worn the previous night, folding it and setting it down beside the dress. I slip the white fabric over my head and my arms slide easily into the short sleeves, the dress finding its perfect place on my body. My fingers grab for the zipper that comes up just beneath my arm and I close it slowly, knowing that I mustn't be rough with it for fear of the thin fabric breaking upon first use. The zipper closes smoothly and I find the wide ribbon that sits on the hanger still and set it around my waist, tying it with a careful bow on my back. Once the ribbon is secure I go to the small box beside my bed and pull out the pair of white dress shoes that my Mother had chosen for me to wear with my Reaping dress. A white sock sits inside each shoe and I pull the first one out, stretching it over my bare foot and folding it slightly at the top. I do the same with the other sock and finally my shoes slip on.

When I rise again my skirt ripples around me with the small air current coming from my window. I breathe in deeply and allow the smell of gasoline to fill my senses. Something about that smell always calms me, even though, seeing as I live in the transportation district, that scent should be common place. Though it is outside the walls of my home, inside the only odour present in the large building is the weak smell of the cleaning treatment that is used to wash the floors.

I am not usually allowed outside without accompaniment, as my Father feels it is dangerous for me to do so by myself. I am aware that many people in District Six hold hatred towards my family, for the sole reason that we are seen as puppets of the Capitol. They don't understand that no matter who the Mayor is, the district will run the same way. If the workers meet their monthly quotient, we will be provided with enough food to get by and so long as there is no evidence of rebellion, we will be left alone for the most part. No man is able to change that. Citizens look for a scapegoat to blame all their problems on, and since they are unable to directly blame the Capitol, they settle for the next best thing, blaming my family.

I remember when I was young and naive, when I never knew of the hatred of my own people and I'm not even sure my Father knew of it either. We would go out to the train yard and spend hours just watching the trains rush by in a flurry of wind, the smell of gasoline pouring into our noses and us relishing every bit of it. He would hoist me up on his shoulders and carry me all the way back to our home and I would laugh the entire way. It had been gradual at first, my Father would tell me he was too tired or that he had a migraine and we would postpone our trips to the yard. Eventually we had stopped going altogether, around the time when I turned eight. Since then I have rarely been allowed out, and my Father had never once come with me if I had the luxury of going. That is just how it was and I have learned to accept this.

I take careful steps across my room, not wanting to scruff my light shoes on the carpeted floor, towards my dresser and open the third drawer. Inside is a pile of elastic bands and ribbons, some stretched and worn and others thick and new. I select an older looking on and pull it onto my wrist. I push back my short, brown curls into a ponytail and weave the elastic around it to hold it in place. When I take my hand away a single curl falls into my face and I tuck it carefully into the elastic so that it too is secured.

I take one final glance into the long mirror before exiting my room, smiling softly to myself so that my face will keep the expression when I present myself to my Mother. I take a moment to straighten the hem of my dress and brush a wisp of hair back, but before long I am walking down the staircase that leads to the Great Room.

As I walk carefully down the stairs my Mother comes into view, standing at the end of the circular staircase alongside my Aunt. I straighten my back as I approach her, as she has told me many times to do, and bring my arms in tight to my body. I descend the last stair and take a few steps towards her, stopping about a metre in front of her. My Mother steps towards me and takes a white flower out of her pocket and clips it onto my ponytail. When she takes her hand away a kinder smile passes briefly over her lips and I look into her eyes and see genuine warmth. But the moment is fleeting and her dulled eyes and forced smile return. My Father enters the room with a fairly young looking woman who is quite clearly from the Capitol. District Six's Escort, whom has not been changed since I was about six or seven year of age, by the name of Snowdrop Marvel.

Her hair has changed from last year when it was a shiny silver and has become a perfect snow white that compliments her name well. Her pale pink eyes glisten with excitement and the dimples in her fair cheeks, accentuated by a pair of clear diamonds that shimmer in the holes. Everything about the pale colors of her green and pink dress brings more focus to her face which is only covered in a thin layer of powder. A silver chain hangs loosely around her neck and on the end sits a large, clear pendant. On her feet, a set of thin, silvery high-heeled shoes click along the porcelain floors as my Father leads her gently towards my Mother, Aunt, and I.

Snowdrop first extends her hand towards my Mother who takes is and bows her head respectively over it as the Escort nods approvingly. She does the same to my Aunt and then turns to me. As practiced, I curtsy towards the beautiful woman while bowing my head. When I lift my head once again I see my Mother smiling from behind Snowdrop and a smile finds its way to my lips as well. I must have performed correctly.

Now that I am of Reaping age, my Mother and Aunt have been teaching me proper ways to conduct myself towards people of high status such as Snowdrop. This has been the first time that I have been able to practice on a real delegate, considering that it was only two weeks ago that I had had my birthday. Before that, my Mother had been satisfied with me remaining in the background and only nodding my head respectively when addressed, everyone knew now that I was getting older, and now the same would be expected of me that was expected of my Mother.

"Welcome to our home Miss Marvel, I do hope that your every request has been seen to?" My Mother asks Snowdrop politely and Snowdrop smiles, showing off a mouth full of perfect white teeth beneath her pink painted lips.

"Of course Mrs. Conway, as always your home has been quite welcoming to my presence," she responds. "Now if you don't mind we should all make our way to the dining room, Maverick told me that fresh groosling has been brought in and I am positively famished!"

My Mother motions Snowdrop towards the dining room and my Father leads the way, making idle conversation with the Escort until we reach our destination. When we do, a pair of red-clothed Avoxes opens the doors to the room. They along with three others had been sent here this morning before Snowdrop arrived, to be certain that everything would run smoothly and as planned. It has not been uncommon, especially in the first couple of years, for the district citizens to plan a small scale rebellion to take place on Reaping Day. Though they have all but disappeared in the last few years, the Capitol does not want to take any chances and pulls out all the stops for the ceremony.

Snowdrop takes a seat at the head of the table and my Father sits to her left, with my Mother taking the empty seat beside him. My Aunt moves me towards the second chair beside the beautiful Escort and she takes the seat beside me. The food has already been set out and we all wait for the cue from Snowdrop to begin eating. She scoops a handful of colorful salad onto her plate and snaps for an Avox to fill her glass with reddish wine. The Avox also fills the rest of our glasses and Snowdrop lifts her glass for a toast.

"To another _brilliant _Hunger Games!" She says in a singsong voice while raising her glass high, smallest finger extended as a lady's should always be. The rest of us lift our glasses in a similar manner and then take a drink of the dry liquid. I struggle to keep my face plastered with a warm smile as the disgusting drink slips down my throat, again another rite of passage that I went through when I was ten, being allowed to drink alcohol with my parents on occasions such as this.

I take a small pile of the colorful salad onto my plate after my Mother and Aunt have both filled their plates, not wanting to be childish by going first. The little red cherries that color the entire thing a warm red tint create a sort of harmony within the dish, considered luxurious even to me who has had the best food in District Six since birth. It just reminds me once again how advanced the Capitol is in everything, that even the best things a district can offer will be mere trash to someone such as Snowdrop who would never settle for second best in anything. Not that my Father would ever settle for second best, but his standards are significantly lower than the Escort's, just based on where he grew up and what quality he grew up knowing.

"Oh dear! Look at the time! We should all be heading out to the Justice Building very soon!" Snowdrop says suddenly as she checks the round clock on the wall of the dining room. "I must go freshen up!"

With that Snowdrop hurriedly exits the room and my Father leaves after her to prepare for his speech, leaving my Mother, my Aunt, and I in silence. My Mother gets up and leaves the room, no doubt to change into her day dress for the Reaping ceremony.

"Don't worry about a thing, dear," my Aunt whispers to me before getting up out of her chair and then helping me out of mine. She grabs my wrist and brings me through the double doors of the dining room and into the hallway. I glance at one of the clocks we pass and see that there is little less than a half hour until the Reaping will begin. My throat feels dry when I remember that this year I will not be sitting onstage with my family. This year I will be standing in the swelling crowd of children waiting to get away from the square. It dawns on me that it is possible that someone in my class at school could be Reaped. Someone that I know, someone my age, could be forced into the Hunger Games. It could even be me.

I force these thoughts to the back of my mind. It is like I have said before, there is next to no chance that I will be chosen. I have one slip in a bowl of thousands, it could not possibly be me this year. Maybe when I grow older I might worry a bit about my chances, but this year I am as safe as I can be.

My Aunt grasps my hand tighter as we exit the side door. I feel her nails dig into the soft flesh of my palm and I try and move my hand around in her tight grip to allow myself a slight bit more comfort. I glance up at her and her expression is one of perfect serenity, so sign of the nervousness that I can feel biting into my hand. It has always made her nervous to travel outside of our home, but as she is not an immediate member of our family she is required to stand in the crowd of adults on Reaping Day. It is a short walk from the narrow pathway to the harsh pavement of the Justice Building and it takes us less than five minutes of silent walking to reach the long lineup of district children, all waiting to enter their respective sections. My Aunt releases my hand and pushes me away from her towards the lineup of children, disappearing into the masses of bodies as people move to create space for her to walk.

I allow myself a calming breath and straighten the hem of my dress once more before taking a place behind a tall boy that looks about fourteen or so. He turns and his eyes narrow at me but I keep the small smile that is almost always present on my face. His clothes are filthy and caked in dirt and grime and his hair is long and greasy. His skin is tanned and his cloudy eyes show both distrust and envy, a look that has become well known to me and is often directed at my family and I. I hold the boy's eyes for just a moment longer before allowing my gaze to travel along the disorganized lineup of children. Most of them are dressed rather pleasantly in worn dresses and dress pants, though a few don't appear to have put any effort into how they presented themselves on this ceremonious day. Most turn and stare at me, my spotless white dress acting as a beacon for the eyes of the district, causing them to whisper amongst themselves and forcing my eyes to stare at the ground as my cheeks heat up.

"Next."

I walk up to the white-clothed Peacekeeper who smiles half-heartedly at me before motioning for me to give him my hand. "This will only hurt a bit, dear."

The children beside me give me dirty looks at the Peacekeeper's obvious favouritism and I only look away, feeling the pinch of a sharp point as it breaks the skin of my finger. A tear rolls down my cheek but I brush it away before anyone can see it. The man in white rolls my finger along a piece of paper and scans it with a small, silver device. He smiles at me once more and waves me off into the sections.

I walk with tense steps, not exactly sure of where I am headed and trying to find other girls my age in the crowd of children. I accidentally bump into a group of older teenagers and a few of them turn to glare at me. A girl with curly, blonde hair whispers something to the bulky boy beside her and they both chuckle, their eyes never leaving me. My cheeks feel warm again and I walk quickly around them, just wanting to get away from all these children and their accusing glares that act as if just by being near them I have done something wrong.

People around me move as I walk by them, purposefully bumping into me or hitting me in the face with their hair as they turn their heads away from me. I feel my eyes begin to moisten but I keep the tears from spilling over, knowing that my father would be most displeased to hear that his daughter cried at such a ceremonious event. I find a place near the stage with other girls who look my age, none of them look at me for more than a few moments, all retreating back into themselves with the nerves they feel. I stare at the ground and do not even look up when another girl bumps harshly into my and causes me to stumble back a couple steps. I only let my eyes rise when I catch my Mother and Father walking out onto the stage from the Justice Building. As I watch my Mother take a seat onstage I feel an overwhelming desire to walk up those steps and join her, to get away from the rest of these people whom I have never spoken with but all seem to dislike me nonetheless. My Father makes his way to the microphone and I see him searching the crowd with his grey eyes that perfectly match my own, I try to move his gaze with my mind, wishing that he would look at me. That maybe I could get one look from someone familiar that would allow me to get through the rest of this. My wish is granted when his eyes move over me and I see what could possibly be the faintest hint of a smile, though I am unsure as his gaze moves on to the rest of the crowds. I cannot even be certain that he saw me from his position over the Square.

"Welcome District Six to the Reaping for the Fourteenth Annual Hunger Games," he begins, his eyes scanning over the paper but I know that he could recite the speech without it. My Father had been practicing the words in his study since receiving the script last month, at any moment the wind could sweep away the page from his hand and his words would surely continue unfazed.

"In penance for the Rebellion that took place in the Dark Days, each of the twelve remaining districts of Panem shall offer up one male and one female between the ages of twelve and eighteen at a public Reaping ceremony. These twenty-four tributes will henceforth be called tributes and will be delivered into the custody of the Capitol. After which they will be transferred to an arena, where they will fight to the death until a lone Victor remains. Forevermore this pageant will be known as the Hunger Games and will serve as a reminder to all that history must not repeat itself again."

My eyes never leave my Father's form as he stands perfectly still, his face the image of how a mayor should look, calm and expressionless as he delivers the decree of damnation to one of the many children here. When the words stop coming, he glances once again over the countless children who begin to squirm under his gaze. I find myself willing him to look my way but this time his eyes avoid my section and he retires to the chair beside my Mother. Once again I wish that I could be sitting next to them, as I have done all my life. But I cannot, and I will not do so ever again. For after I turn nineteen I will be required to get married and move out of my home, there will be no more years of me sitting with my family on the stage on Reaping Day. Those days are over as of today.

Snowdrop stands up from her chair beside my Mother and her heels click along the stage , her white hair swinging behind her. She stops in the centre of the stage and gives a bright, perfect grin to the audience who respond not with claps or cheers as she could rightfully expect. The only thing her dazzling entrance gains is silence except a few odd coughs that come from some of the adult citizens.

One of the girls beside me steps on my foot sharply and I bite my lip to keep from making any noise. I look over to her and she is unable to meet my eyes but the grins on the faces of her and the girl beside her are unmistakeable. I just shuffle myself away from them slowly and make bring my feet closer together so as not to take up as much room. I self-consciously fix the hem of my skirt, noticing now that I am the only one in my section dressed in pure white, with some of the other girls wearing dirty garments that appear to have once been the same color but have been drastically changed with age. My throat feels dry as I become aware of a few eyes boring into me, staring me down and surely noticing how much I differ from them. I know these differences, but never before have I felt ashamed of them until this moment.

"As is only polite, we will choose our lucky, young lady first," Snowdrop says smoothly before walking away from the microphone to the large glass bowl that lay to her right. Her hand moves gracefully within the clean glass for a few moments before selecting a single white slip right off the top of the pile. The perfectly folded piece of paper rests between her thumb and forefinger as she glides gracefully back to centre stage. She flicks each of her wrists rhythmically, one after the other, and her pale eyes glaze over the slip. Her smile shrinks slightly and I can see the light dim in her eyes, though she proceeds to announce the name without so much of a crack in her voice.

"Greylyn Conway."

I hear several gasps around me, the nearest being the girl who had stepped on my foot earlier who now turns to her friend with a shocked yet gleeful expression. A few muffled chuckles come from behind me, before all I am able to hear is the ringing of my own ears. My head feels heavy and I think I might faint, but I try desperately to block out everything, the understanding of what has just happened, the fears of what will soon happen, and just focus on one thing. Getting to the stage in one piece.

My body feels numb but I manage to move one foot in front of the other for a few steps until I feel a small bump from behind me that causes me to fly forward and become completely imbalanced. My arms flail out and I catch myself just before falling into the aisle and the ringing in my ears subsides just long enough for me to hear the cruel laughter behind me. I blink away the tears that I never felt forming but it is no use and a few tears roll down my face anyway. My feet somehow find a way to begin moving and I head tentatively towards the stage, which even though it could be no more than twenty metres away, feels like it will take me many lifetimes to reach. My arms shake at my sides and my legs feel like they might give out at any moment.

The unthinkable has happened. Even with the odds stacked completely in my favour, I am going to be a tribute in the Hunger Games. And no one even cares.

My eyes are blurry with tears and I only narrowly miss tripping up the stairs as my foot catches on the first, though I manage to keep my balance and grab Snowdrop's extended hand as she helps me to the stage. She turns me around by my shoulders so that I face the crowd of snide faces, all staring back at me with a look that tells me they think I deserve this.

Do I deserve this?

My eyes move over the crowds, looking for a single face that has even the slightest hint of pity or sympathy on it. I find Vivian within the crowd of girls, standing in the front row with the smallest of smirks on her lightly tanned face. The girls around her reach out in fake pity to comfort her, help her mourn for the inevitable loss of a friend of hers. She turns them away with one wave of her hand and they giggle, delighted in the fact that even my best friend thinks this is fair punishment for me.

A single tear splashes on the wooden boards of the stage and is soon followed by another. I force my head up and catch a glimpse of my Father, who is unable to even look in my direction. His face is turned towards the audience and my Mother is holding one gloved hand to her mouth in a mixture of grief and surprise. I try to catch either of my parents' eye but they avoid me. Soon enough my vision grows blurry and I just stare down at the floor, trying so hard to keep the waterfall of desperation hidden away.

I look up through glazed eyes and see that I am not alone. A boy stands next to me, with soft hazel eyes looking down at me from a great height. He just stares at me, our eyes locking for what could have been hours, minutes, or even just mere seconds. He doesn't look like anyone I have ever met or come into contact with, though even just having him there beside me makes me straighten my back and stand just a little bit taller. His brown dress pants are worn out with age and a slight smear of black grease sits just above his eyebrow. His lips are formed into a sphere and I can see the nerves in his expression, though he does not cry. I take a moment to brush away the rest of the salty liquid from my face before I am pulled forward by my shoulder, closer to the centre of the stage beside Snowdrop.

"It is my honour to present to you, District Six's tributes for the Fourteenth Annual Hunger Games," she pushes both me and the tall boy forward and we stumble a few steps before catching ourselves, me quicker than him. "Greylyn Conway and Phoenix Whitter!"

My face feels frozen, and my feet lock in place as I stare out into the crowd. No one seems to move but the eager faces that gaze back at me look positively gleeful at the thought that they will soon be allowed to leave. I feel a tight grip on my wrist that lightens almost immediately as the white clothed Peacekeeper turns me around to face him, his own expression turning sheepish as he mutters something under his breath that I don't catch. Unable to catch my footing right away, the bulky man is forced to stop his hot pursuit of another white clothed man who pulls Phoenix towards the familiar doors of the Justice Building. I finally am able to walk on my own and I feel a sharp tug on my wrist and suddenly the bright, natural light of the Square is dimmed and I hear a door slam behind me.

"This way, dear," a gruff voice tells me as I am pulled lightly down a narrow corridor that I had never been allowed to explore as a young child, and had no desire to see years after. Another door closes near me to lock Phoenix in his room and the Peacekeeper who has hold of my wrist pushes me softly into the second room of the dimly lit hallway. The door closes and I find myself pulling against the bronze doorknob that doesn't so much as budge as I grasp it harshly. Giving up, I push my back against the door, taking deep breaths to calm myself as I slide to the floor.

The reality of my situation hits me hard and I am reduced to a curled up ball, crying and sobbing softly into my white dress. The door hits against my back as someone tries to open it and I jump up from the floor, flinging myself towards the opposite wall of the small room in surprise. My breaths are ragged from crying and for a moment all is still, then the door opens cautiously and my Father walks into the room, looking as calm and collected as he always does.

"Greylyn?" He says and just those two familiar syllables are enough to bring more tears to my eyes, forcing me to turn away from the man who I know would not approve of such an emotional display. My body shakes and shivers despite the warm temperature of the room and I shut my eyes tightly, trying so hopelessly to hold back the tears that continue to coat my face. I feel a cold hand on my shoulder and I flinch at the touch before I am turned around. I finally open my eyes and see my Father's grey eyes looking back at me, he doesn't say anything but offers me a dark red handkerchief from his jacket pocket. I take it gingerly and wipe at my eyes with it, feeling the soft fabric caress my cheek.

"Where's Mother?" I croak out through muffled sobs, buried beneath my hands as I cradle my tear stained face.

"She fainted after you left," he whispers quickly and takes a step towards me. I try to look up at him but all I can see from behind the blurry tears is many swollen masses of color. "Her and Auntie are back at the house."

My shoulders shake rhythmically now, as if all the years of holding in everything that I felt were finally coming out. I don't feel any more tears slide down my face but my lips quiver and my legs feel as if they could give out at any moment. My tongue feels swollen in my mouth, leaving me unable to say anything more to the news that my own Mother will not be here to say goodbye to me for the last time.

"Greylyn," he crouches down in front of me and takes me by the shoulders once again and I snap out of it as his calm expression comes into focus through the thick liquid. Even just seeing him brings me into somewhat of a state of calm. "Greylyn, listen to me."

I look to him with wide eyes and he tucks a stray curl behind my ear and gives me a forced smile. "Everything is going to be okay."

My eyes start to glaze over with tears once again and I shake my head mechanically, my body barely able to even perform such a simple movement in its state of shock. He takes the red handkerchief from my stiff hand and brings it up to my face to stop the small stream of tears slipping down my cheek. He nods almost imperceptibly and he holds my eyes with his and I can see the smallest trace of water lining his lids.

"I'm not coming back," I manage to stutter out, my throat feeling smaller with each vibration of my vocal cords.

He begins to sigh but stops halfway, something new registering on his face. He breaks our stare for a moment and when his eyes return to mine they are not the same strong, calm eyes as before. They appear blank and unmoving, cut away from everything he is seeing but still there somehow. "Make us proud, dear."

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**Phoenix Whitter, District Six Male**

_**TheTargWoods**_

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"Son, you should be focusing on getting ready, this piece of junk isn't planning on leaving any time soon", my dad kicked it before he left spilling he fuel out of the generator.

"Great.", yet another thing I have to waste time on fixing. I hate sacrificing precious time for the Capitol and their reaping and all that other useless stuff they've created. One can say I am the most corny person that they have ever came across in their life I tend to agree, I am boring and often not amusing and when I try to be I look like a complete idiot.

For some reason I have this feeling that my father views me as a complete failure compared to my older brother's. As the youngest of five I got babied the most which molded me to be feminine. My brothers never forget to tease me calling me "little sister", "Miss Phoebe" or garbage daughter claiming I come from a trash bin. Some times I feel hatred towards them and other times I start to consider the things that they say, maybe I am feminine and maybe I really don't fit into this family. I pretend not to care but it is hard not to wonder about my self sometimes and what my future could possibly hold in an ocean of emotional torture, I sometimes doubt I even have a future. Every day I find myself spending too much time believing the hurt in the words they throw at me when I should be laughing it off, they do not mean to laugh at my expense. Waking up every morning with the desire to do right has a tough hold on me, I wish to feel what it means to find true happiness and to have the courage to rise up against my fiends and blow them away. Working on myself and how I interpret thing's is the first step I just wish I could figure out away to stop my heart from descending into my stomach. I've even attempted to fool my foes and brothers to believe I was content and not a work could destroy my soul, I even tried to fool myself into believing this but it failed to work. I wish to kill every woe I have ever had and replace it with fierce confidence.

The garage was now surrounded with the result of poorly cleansed metal, rust. The sound and stench of rust is constantly grinding your teeth here, it adds on to endless reasons why I hate living in this district. If I really want to be honest with myself, the main reason I hate it here is because I hardly have any friends. It doesn't matter much anyway, we all die eventually it just sucks for those who die alone. I can't imagine that another 23 kids will die again in two weeks, at the age of 17 it isn't likely that I will have to worry about it but it is still a scary conclusion. Packing away my equipment I head out of the garage and into my barely standing house, as a mommy's boy I fail to slide past her as I enter.

"Phoenix, your father was just telling me about how hard you have been working on your engine", she shook her smooth brown face, "perhaps you should consider taking some time away from it and spend more time worrying about your social life". I sighed and bent my head unable to find a good excuse. My mother stands as a very tall woman only an inch shorter than my father, both have distinctive dark features; the same shade of brown hair and eyes. All four of my brother's are identical to each other but I am so different. We share alike faces however my joints are more angular and I am far more scrawnier than anyone of them.

Yes it is a brother's job to tease the youngest, "It's not nice to ignore momma little Runt", Balthier let out a booming laugh he is the class clown in the family and the eldest at 25 years of age, yes 25.

"Isn't it time to get a wife?", the only come back I could think of and frankly it didn't affect him in the slightest.

"That's enough boy's, Balthier only has room for one woman in his life and that would be me", my mother laughed, pinched his cheeks and then gave him a sloppy kiss on the forehead.

"That is right momma, all I need is you", Balthier laughed and made his way upstairs to get presentable for the reaping. Some times I wonder about him, most poor men in our district marry at young ages out of respect for his parent's, it gives them one less mouth to feed. If you are lucky enough to find a working lady you can add another pay cheque to cover expenses, it is a sad reality but I think the meaning of love and marriage has been replaced with the love for money or survival.

A knock at the door sent my mother shiver's, my brother Marquis and his wife Wina always come just an hour before the reaping begins, I am the only sibling still stuck in it. Just one more reaping after this, if only I can keep myself together and stop being so afraid.

Wina makes her way into the kitchen area and eye's my shaggy brown hair removing a comb from her bag, "Could I help you get ready?", she wore her blonde hair in a spiral bun and a knee length yellow dress with a lace belt around her side. She is short and very small in weight except for a small bump sitting perfectly under her belt.

I couldn't stop myself from asking, "Are you pregnant?", I then tried to throw my words back into my mouth, "I only ask because women in our district don't usually gain weight", oh great, "not that you are fat it's just I see a bump and I-"

"Yes uncle, I am having a baby", with a smile she looked down at me and not once has she ever judged me for my awkward statements.

"Oh that is great to hear, hopefully it isn't a future victor in there", I laughed and then swallowed my words, "well, I meant it as in hopefully he doesn't get reaped. Or she, it would be cute whether it was a boy or girl but we hardly have girls in the family so it might be a boy, I don't know why I am still rambling on, sorry".

"It is fine, you are a very amusing and different person. View these differences as a gift and not a punishment," she could read my insecurity without trying, "A great man once said 'a single fake smile could never change the world but a single smile of happiness could change a man's future', I want you to think about that Phoenix, today is a scary day for us all yet you show no fear."

She is right, I have no fear and I am probably the only person in a non career district that couldn't care if I get reaped today, I don't see a brighter future anyway's, "I made it this far what are the odds that I will be picked?",she knew I was lying but accepted the smile I gave her indicating that I take her advice.

"With that said you should get your clothing on for the reaping, the Capitol will be creeping their greedy eye's through the audience betting thousands upon thousands of dollar's on which child will be picked", she laughed and finished running a brush through my shaggy brown hair.

My mother could be heard cheering in the background as my brother enter's the kitchen, "Grandmama is happy to hear about the child", he wrapped his arm around his wife and gave her a kiss which is my cue to book it. I ran to my bedroom and quickly stormed through the mess in an attempt to get the visions of sloppy kisses out of my head, eventually I found brown dress pants with a bit of grease on them and a green button up shirt. I threw it on and made myself look presentable with the thought that today is my day to get reaped. Even though I welcome this fate I cant help but imagine never getting the chance to meet my niece or nephew. Not that I would have an influence on him or her but the child would have such an influence on me. True happiness is only met when innocence can be relived and nothing is more innocent than a perfect little child. How could I ever protect this child from the Hunger Games? How could I ever stop the Capitol from harming the little one? I couldn't, the death of innocence can be noted the first time a child see's a tribute dead on television. It is mental abuse from the capitol that will never be stopped, maybe one day someone will rise above with the districts and fight against the cruelty of the Capitol. This day will never be in my life time but I will never stop hoping.

I made my way down stairs back to where Wina and Marquis were, my mother and father were dressed accordingly but something was not right with their expression's, my other brother's have joined them with the same humorous reaction. Balthier started laughing obnoxiously, "Is that mom's shirt?", everyone even Wina began to laugh at me. I looked down and realized the lace sleeve's and porcelain buttons, I wanted to cry but I didn't. I tore the shirt off of me ripping it at the sides make my mother furious, running back to my room I threw on a much less professional work shirt. My mom came into the room and noted how devastated I was.

"It's alright sweetheart, we all thought you were doing it as a joke to make us feel better. That was until you stormed away", she gave me a hug and kissed my forehead, I just want to stay home and sleep.

"Mom, I can't stand those bastards any longer, they are worse than the kids at school", I removed myself from her arms and made my way out of the house refusing to speak to anyone. I started my way to the justice building. I was so mad that I ignored everything, the weather and time alike, I just want this entire day to end.

"Hey kid slow down", the annoying voice was getting closer and of all people Balthier had caught up to me, "There's no reason for you to be acting this way".

"No reason?", I stopped and turned towards him, through my dark eye's I could see that he was not here to argue with me. He placed his broad body beside me and gestured for me to continue walking, "Go home Balthier, I'm sick and tired of dealing with you!", I pushed him back a foot or two and continued my way.

"You want a fight kid? I can give you a fight or you can deal with things like a man and stop feeling sorry for yourself", Balthier caught up to me again holding me in place, "so what's it going to be kid".

"I say you get the hell away from me", I have no room for a confrontation, I have nothing to say to him and anything I do say will give him another reason to laugh at me.

"Kid, tell me what you have a problem with and we can correct before it's too late.", he assured me that he had no interest in making this bigger than it needs to be, "Today of all day's is the day you want to push away your brother?"

"It goes a lot deeper than that Balthier, one day wont make up for the thing's you've all put me through making me feel like a piece of crap with no toilet to live in."

Balthier let out a laugh, "I can find you a toilet to shove yourself in if you would like", I laughed at his statement and forgave him.

"Now I know why you don't have a girl", I laughed, "you have an interesting way of showing concern."

"And I thought I was the big bad bully here, you're the one always making fun of my single life.", he pushed me in a friendly way.

The rest of the walk to the justice building was boring and not at all amusing, Balthier was good at keeping up the conversation ensuring he had regrets about the way he's treated me.

"I'm sorry kid, I really wish I would've known a lot sooner, I never wanted to cause this much damage, if it helps mom gave me a beat down", he gave away the real reason he came.

"Oh, that's why you came, mom made you come", I shook my head in disbelief.

"No, but I knew that if I didn't come you wouldn't have forgiven me", he stated.

"How do I know I can believe you?", I questioned his response.

"This is ridiculous, you always overreact as if everyone here is out to harm you", he became defensive, "When we try to make up for the things we say you make a big deal out of it and throw accusation's at us."

"Exactly, so if it's always my fault don't waste a minute trying to correct it OK? Just leave me alone now", I began to walk ahead of myself feeling bad for him. I really don't mean to be paranoid but I can't help it anymore, it has been so long since I have felt acceptance and unity within my own family. They are all right, I am the problem with no solutions nor a way to be corrected.

"I don't know what to do kid, please stop acting like a baby and start forgiving all of this. I'm sorry", Balthier made his way into the fence where the other guests have to stand, the woman in charge of pricking my finger waited impatiently for me to move closer to her. She was very large with thick colored eye brow's and fake blonde hair, she is here every single year, her nickname within district 6 is "Fat Adelaide" her real name remains unknown.

"Sorry Ma'am what were you saying?", I smiled nicely to her.

"I asked what your name was", she gave me a glare washing the smile right off of my face.

"Phoenix Whitter", I snubbed at her as she pricked my finger and placed it on my name. I hate having her of all people pricking my precious fingers; you'd figure the Capitol would have made her retire by now due to her utterly atrocious looks.

Everyone is in their group of friend's and chatting within their social circles and then there is me, the lonely boy who had a temper tantrum over a shirt moments earlier. I feel so out of place here and so alone yet I am surrounded by hundred's possibly thousands of people half of which stand in my age group. Why must it be so difficult for me to be accepted into someone's social circle? I have no idea why nor should I care, but I do care and that isn't doing me any good.

The mayor and his classy wife make their way to their seats, he focuses on his speech and waits for the crazy escort Snowdrop to take her seat. Snowdrop's hair has changed into a white color, I used to believe the Capitol folks hated to show any signs of grey and white. For some reason her pink eye's scare me deeply yet I find her kind of beautiful in an odd way. I notice that a chair is missing, the precious daughter of the mayor must be twelve and in the audience, my estimate is backed up by the boys next to me chatting up the same guess.

"Welcome District Six to the Reaping for the Fourteenth Annual Hunger Games," The mayor's booming voice startled me, his walk to the microphone was clearly unnoticed. I couldn't help but notice the boy behind me laugh under his breath. The mayor continued to recite the page in his hand, I never gave much thought about him but I can only imagine the amount of pressure the Capitol places on him to project perfection. He exits back to his seat allowing Snowdrop to begin the reaping, this is when the nerve's go insane.

I ignored the treaty I find it a useless solution to a temporary problem, how is it right to make children die for the mistakes of their parent's? I can come up with one billion other answers to remind the children of the results of rebellion. Wouldn't it be easier to pay teachers to teach about the rebellion? Or take children to district 13 to show them what would become of them if they did the same? Well they do not fail at reminding all of us that we have a psychopath running the country, on top of that the citizens of the Capitol are just as sick.

The mayor escaped back to his seat allowing Snowdrop to begin the reaping. My nerves have started to kick in, I tried not to be afraid of this moment. But I am, horrified to be exact. Snowdrop went on about how beautiful our district was and how she was delighted to be back, she seems so honest yet so phony but I have learned not to jump to conclusions, "As is only polite, we will choose our lucky, young lady first,", she plunged her hand into the reaping bowl to pull the name of an unfortunate girl, "Greylyn Conway." , oh crap talk about unfortunate, that is the mayor's daughter!

How could she of all the children in district 6 have gotten the golden ticket to her death? It isn't difficult to find the girl in her expensive white dress making her way to the stage where she sat safely just 365 days ago. She barely notices anything else happening around her, she stands still as her mind runs a hundred miles an hour.

The escort says a little rubbish about how its the boy's turn and quickly rushes to the boy's bowl, with each step she takes my heart beats faster. If the mayors girl can get picked anyone can, and sure enough Snowdrop call's, "Phoenix Whitter!"

"You have got to be kidding me", I whisper under my breath and push my way through the lousy bunch of bleeding heart's I've had to deal with my entire life. I walk up to the stage and face the little princess next to me, how could she be here? She is practically Panem monarchy, one of the most famous little girls in district 6 yet she stands as a tribute for her district and her Capitol.

She takes in my existence as the escort pushes us together saying,"It is my honor to present to you, district 6's tributes for the Fourteenth Annual Hunger Games", I am still stumbling a little after Greylyn catches herself, "Greylyn Conway and Phoenix Whitter."

I step into the justice building and quickly notice that the inside is so poorly lit that I wanted to dive straight out the window. The room they placed me looked just as bad. So many questions pondered through my head I always wanted to escape this place but now I just wish I could go home.

Balthier comes through the door and wraps me in his arms, "I wish I could take your place, I really do.", I have no doubt's that he would have volunteered for anyone of his baby brother's if they got reaped. Balthier even shed a single tear drop.

"Whoa my brother crying?", I tried to cheer him up though it should be the other way around, "Hey, where's mom and dad?", I couldn't help but ask.

"They didn't let them in", He shook his head in anger and frustration, "I guess they were to outraged by this and started making a fuss with the peacekeeper's on their way inside."

At that moment my mom and dad entered, "I guess they killed their way in.", I ran into my mother's arms like a little girl would but I couldn't help it this will be my last chance. "I don't want a lecture on how I am going to win and how everything will be alright, I just want to say proper goodbye's and not leave here with false hope. My mother begins to cry and slides down into a crouch, Balthier comforts her and assures her that I will be just fine. My father comes towards me and places his pocket sized sketch pad in my hand, "What's this?", I ask.

"Your tribute token", he smile at me, "take notes in the training center on the survival aspects, I have faith in you to learn the skill's but sometimes we need things in front of us when our mind is in survival mode, rarely does survival mode convince one to do more good than harm. Focus on combat knowing you have the climate in your pocket but be very wary of the different dangers of this."

"Thanks dad, how creative, I wouldn't want to be caught cheating like this. I promise I'll at least make you guys proud!", I put the sketch book in my pocket and gave my family one last hug and kiss before they had to leave me here permanently.

I was able to spit out my final words, "I'm not going to say goodbye alright?"


	7. District Seven Reapings

**A/N- **Sorry for the delay my internet got cut off and only just came on today and I couldn't use my phone to update but here is District Seven. Hope you enjoy this chapter! :D

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**Kilea Fairbane, District Seven Female**

_**Katnissfire87654**_

* * *

_No one likes the Hunger Games, but it's a way of life now. We need to accept it for what it is. _

RING! RING! RING! My rickety old alarm clock goes off at what is hopefully the programmed time, 1:00 AM.

I reach under my bed and pull out a small satin bag, then tiptoe silently out of the room I share with my little brother, Tomas. Once downstairs, I pick up the clothes I laid out on the table yesterday and change out of my threadbare nightgown. I pull my hair back into a tight bun and head out the door.

Walking through the pine-scented alleys of District 7 always makes me feel free. There is nothing more relaxing to me then walking alone, before mockingjays or squirrels have woken up, before the hustle and bustle of a typical day in District 7 begins. Branches crack underneath my feet as I hurry to reach my destination.

Three minutes later I arrive at a small wooden building, built decades ago. I step through the cracked doorway and sit down on the floor. I stick my legs out in front of me and lean over, stretching out. Finished stretching, I pull out a pair of satin pink shoes, lace the ribbon around my ankles, and stand up. Ballet is something that I always dreamed of doing. When my mother began to teach me, at the age of three, I jumped at the opportunity. There had been times I had thought of quitting, but I always pulled through. A few years ago, she gave me her most prized possession, a pair of satin pointe shoes.

I take a deep breath and push up into a_ releve_ position, then push my left leg behind me into an _arabesque. _I _penchee _down to the floor and pull myself back up. I continue dancing for a few more hours. In the middle of a _grand jete _I remember what day it is…CRASH! I land on the floor, my body on top of my hand.

"OUCH!" I yell, then clamp my mouth shut. I don't need anyone hearing me at 6:00 in the morning. Especially not today. The day of the Reaping. My hand bleeding from cuts from the wood, I pull my shoes off and slide them into the bag.

I put my normal shoes on and walk down to the lake. On the way I hear mockingjays calling to each other. Holding my injured hand, I wet a leaf and press it to the cut. The sun rising high above the trees casts a mystical glow on the water. I feel so peaceful sitting here, even worrying about the Reaping. I close my eyes and listen to the water flowing over the river rocks.

Once my hand feels better, I stand up, take one last look at the beautiful lake, and head back home. Thunder faintly sounds and I start running, not wanting to get caught in the middle of a storm. Storms in District 7 are bad. Lightning often strikes trees, sending them toppling over, sometimes even on top of people and houses. I reach my small house as rain begins to fall. The roads will be a muddy nightmare come Reaping time!

Tomas and my mother are already sitting at the breakfast table, a meal of berries and a bit of meat in front of them.

"There you are Kilea! We've been waiting for you!" my mother exclaims, jumping up from her seat and pulling out a chair for me. I smile at her and eat my breakfast slowly. Once finished, I head up to my room and dig through the closet for something to wear.

Clothes now strewn about all around the room, I flop down on my bed in frustration. None of my clothes are suitable. I kick a pillow across the room and stare up at the ceiling. A soft knock on the door sends me flying across the room to pick up all the clothes. Before I had finished putting away an especially ugly pink dress, my mother enters, holding a soft blue dress. She holds it out to me and says, "Here, I want you to wear this today."

I take it from her and look into her eyes, which are filling with tears. "Are you sure mom?" I ask. "Wasn't this the dress you wore on your first date with dad?" She nods and wipes a tear from her cheek. Dad had disappeared years ago, and the mention of him still touches a sensitive spot in my mother.

She steps out and shuts the door gently. I run my hand over the beautiful fabric and then change into the dress. I brush my long auburn hair out and stick my grandmother's pearl clip in to hold my bangs back. I slip some flats on and go downstairs. Tomas is still sitting at the table, flinging his food around, splattering the walls. His face lights up when he sees me and he yells for me to come closer. Grinning, I walk over to him and give him a big hug.

"Good luck!" he yells. I smile and wave goodbye before stepping out the door. The storm has stopped and the sun is shining. Across the street, I see my friends Johnny and Alicia playing with Johnny's dog Coconut. I wave, and then rush over to join them. Alicia runs to greet me, then practically pulls me over to Johnny and Coconut. I stroke the chocolate lab's back and smile at Johnny.

"Let's play truth or dare!" Alicia suggests. Johnny and I agree, knowing that it is her favorite game. "Okay, I'll start," she says, then turns to me. "Kilea, truth or dare?"

"Dare," I reply, like I usually do. Kilea Fairbane is not one to spill all of her personal secrets in a stupid game.

"I dare you to lick Coconut's head!" She laughs maniacally. I roll my eyes, bend down, and lick the furry dog's head.

Picking dog hairs off my tongue, I ask Johnny, "Truth or dare?" The game continues much like this for a little while, until its Johnny's final turn.

"Kilea, truth or dare?"

"Dare, obviously." I reply. He whispers quickly to Alicia. Her eyes grow wide, her face turns pale, and she shakes her head fervently. Johnny ignores her and turns back to me.

"I dare you to volunteer for the fourteenth Hunger Games." I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and slowly nod.

* * *

Come time for the Reaping, I'm regretting my stupid decision. Was I even thinking? Was my mind taken over by aliens? How could I ever agree to volunteer for the Hunger Games? I can't kill other people! I stand in my section with Alicia, staring down at the ground, trying to ignore everything around me. I can't help but notice when our escort, Paris, bounces out onstage. He wears something outrageous every year, however, this year I think is the worst. He is wearing a glittery yellow suit, his ginger afro sticks straight up off his head, and his ruby encrusted teeth sparkle in the sun.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to the Reaping for the fourteenth Annual Hunger Games!" he screams into the microphone. "I hope you all had a leafy day!" He pauses, apparently expecting applause and laughter from the audience. When he receives none, he screws his face up in distaste. "C'mon, folks, cheer up! I made a pun! Oh, you all are so depressing."

"Just get on with it!" A voice calls out from the boys section.

Paris sighs and shakes his head disapprovingly. He leans away from the microphone and mutters something to himself, probably about how he would rather escort District One. "Let's do it traditional, shall we, and reap the female first?" Paris says, as he does every year. He skitters across the stage his shoes clanking noisily. He sticks his manicured hand into the glass ball, swirls his fingers around for a moment, before finally pulling out a folded up paper. Finally, Paris calls out, "And the female tribute for District Seven is…Saffron Fray!" A small frail girl from the thirteen year olds section slowly walks towards the stage, her blonde ringlets sagging.

I muster up all my courage and yell as loud as I possibly can, "I volunteer as tribute!" I can feel everyone's eyes go to me. I try to confidently stride up to the platform, but my smile feels more like a grimace.

"A volunteer?!" Paris's loud voice shrills. He blinks momentarily, then regains his usual stiff posture. He hurries toward me and sticks his hand out. I stare at his hand for a moment, my head up in the clouds somewhere, before rapidly shaking it. "And what is your name dear?" He asks, grinning at me.

"Kilea Fairbane," I mutter.

"I introduce you, District Seven, your female tribute for the fourteenth Hunger Games, Kilea Fairbane!" Paris yells as he thrusts my arm into the air.

"Now, it is time for the boys, eh?" Paris shouts out, grinning. He seems much more joyful since I volunteered. There hasn't been a volunteer from District Seven since about the second Hunger Games.

Paris quickly selects a piece of paper from the male's bowl, suddenly in the mood to get the Reaping over with. He unfolds the paper and says into his obnoxious microphone, "And our male tribute for this year is…Ty-Tyrion Pond!"

"Well, come on up!" Paris impatiently yells toward the boys. Everyone stares toward the boy who must be Tyrion, just waiting for him to step up.

As he finishes stumbling up to the stage, Paris grabs his arm and shoves him opposite of me. Tyrion trips however, and Paris nearly runs over him in his rush to get this done. The audience bursts into laughter. I look over at Tyrion and Paris, their faces flushed. Paris quickly recovers, but Tyrion's face is the same shade of red as a tomato.

As the laughter dies down, Paris flings Tyrion's arm into the air and yells, "Here's your male tribute, Tyra- Tyrian Pond!"

"It's Tyrion," I hear him mutter under his breath.

Ignoring him, Paris shoves him over to me. "Shake hands, kids."

I clasp his hand and shake it. He just stares at me blankly. His face is a blank sheet, I can't tell what he's thinking about. I don't think I've ever seen him around the District, which I suppose is just as well. It just wouldn't do to know someone well, then have to kill that person later on. I don't know how I'll ever manage allies.

* * *

As soon as the Reaping is over, a couple of Peacekeepers shove me into a small room inside the Justice building. Almost immediately, my mother and Tomas come in. Tomas runs and hugs my legs, nearly tipping me over. Mom just has a bewildered look on her face. "Why'd you do it honey?" she asks, pulling me in for a tight hug.

"You wouldn't understand mom, just hope I come back," I reply, burying my head in her dress, trying not to cry. She beckons Tomas over to the couch and we sit there, huddled together until it's time for them to leave. I squeeze Tomas, who has begun to cry, myself using all my willpower to not cry. I wave goodbye to them one last time. A few moments later, Alicia and Johnny enter, their faces already tear-stained.

"Promise me you'll help my mom take care of Tomas?" I ask, looking at them expectantly. They nod, and Alicia starts crying softly. I hug them both and we sit on the floor.

"You know, when I dared you, I didn't expect you to accept." Johnny says in a somber voice.

"You know me, I never turn down a dare!" I say, trying to lighten the mood. Alicia sniffles and before I can properly say goodbye they are whisked away by Peacekeepers. Certain I won't get any more visitors, I sit down on the ground and proceed to cry. A soft knock on the door alerts me and sends me flying to get it. Who could it be? I open the door and stare at the face in front of me in disbelief. "Daddy?" I whisper, my voice shaking. He nods and smiles. I fling myself toward him and start sobbing uncontrollably. "Princess, I brought something for you," he whispers into my ear. I pull back and look at him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small package, wrapped in paper. I open it and find a heart-shaped locket. Inside, there are two pictures of my whole family, before dad left. My tears now rush down like waterfalls as I hug him once more. I don't let go until Paris comes and takes me away to the train that will lead me to my death.

* * *

**Tyrion Pond, District Seven Male**

_**LoveIsBlindness**_

* * *

The glass is dirty; mud caked in the corners and smeared across the wide expanse of the window, the wooden frame of the window is coated in whitewash paint which is peeling and splintered. In the dim shop, there are at least a dozen of cakes with crisp, white icing, all hidden away on a shelf. On display are warm muffins with steam rising off them, little cupcakes with swirls of icing and baked bread with golden surfaces. The smell wafts from the shop through the cracks of the back door, the fragments of the food is so enticing and delicious that I'm so tempted to break in and slide the muffins, cupcakes and bread into my tattered bag and steal away like the wind. However, I remind myself for the thousandth time that it's best if I break in at night with my best friend.

Percy and I don't just steal for fun, we steal because we're starving and we are responsible for our families' health. It's difficult to maintain the food supply in our families due to the lack of money coming in from our employments. In District Seven, many people have two jobs to try and survive, because the wages are low and difficult to get by. For me and Percy, we still attend school, so we can't have two jobs to go to which results in more need for money and food, leading to us having to decide whether to steal or not. Usually, we try to steal from the richest shops, because it is apparent that those shopkeepers are getting by perfectly well, whilst other shopkeepers are starving just like us. However, it is sometimes difficult because there are scarcely any rich shops in District Seven.

My eyes wander over the displays of golden bread, the crusts crisp and slightly burnt, the black soot falling. I can vividly imagine grabbing one of them and breaking into it, smelling the sweet musk of the baked bread, feeling the warm, soft bits of bread from inside as I tear into it. My hand slams onto the thin glass, a sensation of temptation blossoms inside me. The urge to break the weak glass is too much to resist, no matter how breaking in during the daytime is too bad.

A snap of a twig draws my attention away from the shop as I swirl around to face whoever encountered me. The canopy of the trees loom over the roof of the shop, seeking out shadows, and hidden amongst the trees is a large shadowed figure... Whoever the stranger is, he is tall with bulky shoulders, his arms encircled by ropy muscles. A horrible sensation like an icy spider crawls down my spine.

"Oi, what are ya doin' here!? Tryin' to rob my stuff, eh?" a voice calls out, a strange, mild accent lacing his voice.

I recoil suddenly as the dark figure slowly creeps over to me; the hairs on the back of my neck stand up like they are static. Already I'd been caught… Abruptly turning, I begin to attempt a quick escape at my last chance.

A laugh erupts from behind me, making me crane my neck to look at my purser curiously. A blush instantly creeps up and over my cheekbones when I catch glimpse of Percy, my best friend, instead of a stranger. He laughs as he strides up towards me, his every precise movement is confident and swift, a slight lithe glide to them. His dark brown locks lick at his temple until he reaches up to brush them away. His eyes are clear and blue, resembling the colour of the clear sky on a sunny, warm day. He flashes me a grin, the teeth practically glittering. My neck blossoms with a light red shade as my eyes slide over his sharp, angular features. He is so goddamn attractive.

"What are you doing here?" he asks curiously.

"Oh, nothing," I curtly reply, giving a dismissive wave of my arm. He raises an eyebrow, not believing me. _Not that again,_ I think with a scowl on my face. I'm always feeling envy towards him when he does that gesture with his eyebrow, because I can't raise an eyebrow for anything, not even my life.

Percy doesn't say anything, he just briskly saunters to stand beside me and glance into the window. He lets out a bark of laughter, spinning onto me with amusement alight on his face. "Let's come back here tonight, those cakes look yummy."

I pull a face at his words. "I don't just want them because they're 'yummy'," I sarcastically reply, taking the mick out of Percy's voice as I quote 'yummy'. Percy's attitude towards life is different to mine; he is care-free, out-going and a joker, whilst I'm quiet, slightly anti-social and mature. In a way, that connects us together, because our traits fill in the empty ones for both of us.

"I know you think they are yummy!" Percy retorts jokingly, giving me a playful but hard punch on the shoulder.

"I only want them because they look like they are filling, not yummy. Also, my family need more food," I say matter-of-factly. He rolls his eyes, scoffing at my words.

"You are always serious. I know exactly what you need: You need to loosen up." Percy's smile tips up slightly more on the right side. "What you need is a girl, that'll loosen you up."

Involuntarily, I grit my teeth. Percy laughs at my hard facial expression. He only thinks that I'm shy with girls, but it's not that. I'm not interested in girls… There is only one person who I'm interested in, and he is standing right in front of me.

If Percy ever knew about my feelings for him, he wouldn't be talking to me. Well, that is only what I assume would happen if he knows the truth. But if I ever risked telling him the truth, I might lose him. And it's better to keep the truth a secret, than to lose him. Without him, my life would return to its old, boring and drab one that I occupied before I met Percy.

"Anyway, come on, we gotta go," Percy says, not taking notice of my change in mood. He begins to stride off, his long legs carrying him further away from me with my short pair. Oh Panem, it's not fair how I'm a lot shorter than other boys my age. I mean, if I was taller, I'd easily catch up with others without having to half-run, half-walk.

"Percy, slow the fuck down," I yell out from behind Percy. He swings around, the sun dancing across his dark hair strands. "Do you always seem to forget that I'm shorter or what?"

"Oh Ty, stop being such a wuss," he jests, not particularly playfully, though.

"Don't call me a wuss," I growl. A blush rapidly spreads over my face, making me look rather like an ugly tomato.

"Or you'll what?" Percy laughs mockingly, throwing a grin over his shoulder as he strolls through the trees, dead leaves crunching beneath the soles of his feet.

"I'll…I-I'll," I stammer uselessly. Pausing for just a moment to consider what to say, I suspiciously narrow my eyes at Percy's back. What can I do to him? Punch him? Kick him in the private area? Smack him around the head? Even though it would be hilarious, I'd rather not get Percy in a bad mood with me, that'd just make the day a whole lot worse.

"What?" Percy halts and turns to face me, a grin alight on his face. "Hmm, you'll what?"

"I'll… Oh whatever, just don't call me a wuss."

Percy frowns, his thick eyebrows furrowing together on his forehead, crinkling the skin. "What's up with you today?"

"Percy, it's the Reaping today…" I say in a deliberate patronising tone. If he managed to forget, then he's a dumbass.

"I know, I know." Suddenly, Percy's mood transforms into a hard, cold one, his stance becomes statue-like. His blue eyes turn frosty as they stare off into the distance. The aura surrounding him is suddenly cold and icy, as if the air around him had been frosted. The leaves crunch beneath my feet as I draw nearer to him, reaching my hand tentatively out. He flinches from my hand, like the merest touch of it stings him.

"Sorry, Percy, I shouldn't have mentioned it," I whisper, concern lacing my voice. "There's nothing to worry about, though."

"_Nothing_ to worry about?" he snaps. "How can I not worry if my siblings might get reaped? If you might get reaped? If _I_ might get reaped? If…if—" He instantly hesitates, not daring to finish his sentence as if it burnt away on his tongue like a piece of paper lit by a candle.

"But Percy, what are the odds? There are hundreds of names in that bowl!" I say, attempting to make my voice reassuring and gentle, however it comes out exactly the opposite.

Percy inhales sharply, the sound rattling in his nostrils. He darts his clear, crystalline eyes towards mine. "You're right," he says, but his voice sounds weak and weary.

I reach out to him, my fingers brushing along his bare arm, hairs rising from the cold touch of my skin. A blush blossoms on my face again, but fortunately Percy doesn't see it, his eyes are resting on the canopy of the trees above our heads. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

Through the heavy drape of tree branches, shackled houses can be spotted. The houses in this part of District Seven are scattered across the entire District, hidden away in the trees. The area where Percy and I live in is one of the poorest areas; you can find children digging out uneaten food amongst the litter bins. However, it still has a little hint of spirit in this area.

Percy drifts off on his own, waving over his shoulder as he strides off in the opposite direction. I pause, watching him for a moment. The way he walks is confident, like he is so sure of himself in this mad, dangerous world. His hair gleams under the sunlight, the ends of his hair flicking up slightly. My own hair is nearly the same shade of dark brown, but mine is typically dull with no gleam in it, the way it hangs over my forehead and ears is limp and lank. My eyes are not the vivid blue colour that Percy possesses; mine are a light hazel shade with flecks of green surrounding the pupils. My build is rather muscular, thanks to my job involving being in the forest and chopping up trees. On my arms are thick hairs, making my appearance more like an ape than a human.

I approach my house, halting in front of it. The door is hanging slightly off the hinges, as if it had been slammed shut so hard that it racked the thin, wooden frame. The windows are dusty and cracked, with a thin veil of grey curtains behind. The roof consists of rusting metal and planks of wood. Walking up to the house, I pry the door open and enter in for myself. There is a musky scent of roasted soup wafting from the kitchen. I head for the kitchen in a beeline, sniffing on the bitter-sweet fragment.

In front of the lopsided table is my mother, Tilly Pond, smiling and singing under her breath. She is slowly buttering a small piece of toast that she always fried up on each Reaping. My mother is never worried about her children on the Reaping day, unlike other parents, she is just care-free and dependents entirely on luck. And she believes that we're lucky. Although, I believe the exact opposite.

"Ah, Tyrion, you're home just in time!" Tilly cries out in joy at the sight of me. "Have some bread, my dear."

"Um, I'm not really hungry today, Tilly," I say before I can think. I wince once her name spills out from my lips. Tilly darts up a quick glare at me.

"Honey, don't call me Tilly. I'm your mother, so you _must_ not call me Tilly," she sternly says, frowning. Suddenly, she butters the last piece of bread in a harsh, abrupt manner, the blade of the blunt knife cutting through the crispy bread and slicing the wooden table beneath.

"I know, Til- Mum. But what's the big deal about me calling you your first name? I'm and adult now," I mutter underneath my breath, exasperated.

She laughs, shaking her head. "You're not an adult yet, my dear."

"I'm sixteen, though," I reply, tilting my chin up high with pride. She peers up at me, smiling with a hint of laughter in her eyes.

"You will be an adult when you're eighteen years old, okay?" she says bluntly. I purse my taut lips together, frowning. Oh well, at least I'll have only two more years…

Turning I quickly exit the room, my dense shoes clanking noisily on the floor. Tilly calls out from behind me, apologizing about something like how she wasn't laughing at _me_. But I ignore her. It's like this practically every single day. I mean, she needs to chill.

Before I can open my bedroom door – the wood splintered and old beneath my calloused palm – one of my younger brothers barrelled into me like a bullet through the air. Immediately, the impact of his attack knocks me off my balance and I stumble helplessly to the floor, my eyes widening. The corridor spins around me, my bedroom door not staying still as it swirls around me. I inhale a couple of deep breaths, attempting to relax my nerves that have swelled up inside my throat. Momentarily, I lay there on the floor, still shocked, until my recollection of what happened becomes audible to me as I peer up at Hansel. The little boy is merely six years old, and his black tendrils of hair snake down over his features, wavy and as soft as water to the touch. Hansel is a gentle and timid person, his demeanour always polite which makes it evident for other kids his age to realise that they can get anything they want from him as he never says no.

And now he is screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Hansel!" I shout, trying to make my voice clear and audible above his screaming, but unfortunately I don't succeed. "HANSEL, BE QUIET!" The little kid shakes his head repeatedly, ignoring my advice promptly. I grit my teeth together, my patience leaking away. It is constantly like this at home, especially with Hansel and his twin brother – who is also, his archenemy. Occasionally, I have to just leave the house for the whole day to avoid all of the mishaps between my siblings. I would be ever so grateful if I was born into a smaller family… "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Suddenly, after the words left my lips, Hansel falls silent. He gaps up at me, his eyes as wide and round as saucepans. "You said the F-bomb…" he whispers, a gasp working its way out of him. I purse my lip and heave in a deep breath, before smiling apologetically down at the boy.

"What's an F-bomb?" another high-pitched, young voice interjects. From behind Hansel, comes Derick, his hair tousled and greasy. His clothing is scruffy and dirty, the hems of the shirt frayed and chopped off. He glances between me and Hansel, frowning.

"And F-bomb is-" Hansel begins.

"Hansel!" I interrupt sharply. Hansel slams his mouth shut and tilts his head down to his chest, whereas Derick makes a confused face at me. I sigh exasperatedly. "Derick, an F-bomb is…a cushion."

"A cushion?" Derick frowns more, his forehead crinkling in puzzlement. "What cushion?"

I mentally slap myself. _Really, Tyrion? You could only come up with a goddamn cushion for an excuse? You're worthless._ "I meant that an F-bomb is a name for this really nice cushion that I found at a shop today." Derick raises an eyebrow, not believing a word I say.

The sound of approaching footsteps reaches my eardrums and I snap my head up towards the new person. From down the long corridor comes Ridley, my sister at the age of fifteen. As she saunters her long, black hair sways loosely behind her shoulder blades, the stark blackness of her hair is a striking contrast with her pale, blue eyes, making her skin appear ghostly pale. Ridley has a lot of boys following her around like a pack of puppies with their tongues lolling from their mouths. If I liked girls the way other boys did, I would notice why the boys are obsessed with Ridley, but I just don't understand what is attractive about Ridley.

Ridley's eyes roams over us like an eagle watching her prey. When she halts besides me, I can't help but subconsciously notice how short I am next to her. "Derick, do you want to know what an F-bomb is?"

"Yes! I don't believe what Tyrion claims," Derick shouts aloud, casting me a frustrated look.

Ridley laughs derisively. "Of course, everything Tyrion says is a load of rubbish." She leans down to Derick until she is eye-level with him. "An F-bomb means fuck."

"Fuck?" Derick pauses, then automatically recovers. "I knew it! I knew it all along." And with that, he trots off down to the kitchen, a slight bounce in his step. Hansel hesitates, glancing around anxiously, until Ridley nudges him so he would follow Derick. And that leaves me and Ridley alone together. What more could make the house fall apart than putting us together?

Ridley faces me, crossing her arms across her chest. "Hey, douche."

"I'm not a douche," I snap back.

She rolls her blue eyes. The blueness of her eyes are so pure and pale that they resemble ice perfectly. "You are so stubborn."

"So are you."

"Whatever." Ridley leans against the doorframe leading to Shelly's – my best friend and sister – bedroom. "How is Percy?"

It was extremely difficult for me to keep my expression devoid of emotion or thoughts. It'd been like this for a several years now. Ridley is curiously interested in Percy, and just needs to know everything about him. And unfortunately, Percy apparently feels the same way towards her. They are both constantly asking me questions about the other; needless to say they haven't even said more than three words to each other. That is the main reason why I and Ridley don't get on, as she clearly isn't in the knowledge of my feelings towards Percy.

Actually, the only one who knows of my feelings is Shelly, who is currently residing in the bedroom behind Ridley. I ponder for a moment if she can hear our voices.

"_Hello_," Ridley says, drawing out the word as she waves in front of my face. "I asked 'How is Percy?'"

I want to shout out_ "If you want to know, why don't ask him?"_ But my tongue is tied as usual. So instead I whisper, "He's fine."

Ridley bites down onto her bottom, painted red lip, and she peers down at her dress she is currently wearing. She stands up straight and swirls in the air, allowing the dress to fan out. "Do you think he would like this?"

I simply stare at the black dress, my throat swelling up at the questions that spin around in my head at what response Percy would have to her in the dress. Percy scarcely tells me his thoughts, but I know just how he likes Ridley by the look he has in his eyes whenever he looks at her. "I'm sure he would love you in that dress…"

Ridley grins, all perfect, pure white teeth. "Do you really think so?" she squeals, gathering up the long dress into her hands and flying off towards the kitchen. Before she opens the door, she cranes her neck to look at me. "Is Percy coming over soon?"

"I think so." At that, she squeals even more and disappears into the kitchen.

She must really like him to go through all of that trouble to get a dress. It is already difficult to get some money for clothes, but Ridley must have saved up her money for the dress so she could impress Percy. I had known how she feels about Percy for the last three years, but I never even suggested to myself to get them together… That's because I'm selfish.

I want to keep Percy all for myself. I was jealous of Ridley because she is the opposite sex and what Percy desires, so putting them together and watching them being happy as a couple would just brew up the emotions I already feel bottled up inside me. Percy would never go for somebody like me, and I knew it. But I just have to be his friend, so I can be around him for a little longer. Being his closest friend makes me feel special, important and wanted. If it's the only thing I can have with him, then I'll just keep it that way despite how he feels for Ridley.

If I wasn't selfish, I would want to see him happy even if it meant seeing him with Ridley and not me. But unfortunately, I'm a selfish, greedy person who isn't strong enough to let go…

The door in front of me pries open, the hinges squealing loudly as it opens wide enough to reveal a small, dishevelled girl around the age of twelve. Shelly stands there, watching me with wide eyes that indicate that she knows, she _knows_. She looks extremely small in the wide doorway, her body frame resembling the delicate frame that a china doll has. Once, I mocked her for looking like a doll – a scruffy doll that is – and she kicked me in the freaking balls for that.

Shelly steps aside, gesturing for me to come in. I slip into the room and slump down onto her creaking bed that she shares with Shanna, the ten years old girl in the family. The bed is small and slightly damp, but I didn't mind as I lay there on top of it. The room is tiny with sharp corners, giving it a box-like feel, and the walls are grey. It is extremely vast and empty in here; there are only the splintered drawers, a rocking chair and at least a dozen of drawings pinned up onto the walls. The paper – on which the drawings are – consist only dark charcoal drawings of people, many people like Shelly, herself, Percy, mother, Hansel and Derick, and the rest of the siblings. And it was me who drew them.

Ever since I was about five years old, a day wouldn't past if I didn't draw. Drawing helps me to express my frustration, pain and happiness at times. I draw practically anything: all the people I personally know, trees, The Hunger Games, the square, the shops in District Seven, and patterns. At school, I doodle basically the entire lesson, it's just something I can't help myself.

Shelly sits down beside me on the bed, as silent as a shadow. She nudges me, raising her eyebrows at me. Instantly, I know what she means – she wants me to just talk, talk about everything.

I pause, sighing through my nostrils before I rub my hands over my face, suddenly feeling weary and exhausted. "It's just so hard!" I blurt out without helping. Before I contemplate my words, they just spill out from my lips without me having to work hard to muster them. "Why is everything so difficult?! If I could have my own way, I can have Percy… Ridley is almost blind for not realising how I feel, it's stupid. Every time Ridley asks me something about Percy, I just want to throw a brick at her, and I'm sure I would do that if mother wouldn't scold me for doing it. I swear that Ridley is mother's favourite child. Everything Ridley does is perfect, everything about her is perfect-"

I automatically stop, the string of words halting in my mouth before they spill out. The rest of the words are unacceptable. If I say them out loud, I wouldn't be able to back them down. If they are said aloud, there is no way to undo them. Also, I would have made Shelly disappointed in me, she thinks that I'm better than that.

However, Shelly remains silent despite my abrupt stop. I dart my eyes to meet hers. She doesn't move for a moment, doesn't say anything.

And that is, ladies and gentlemen, is because she's a mute. It's impossible for her to say anything. However, she can do sign language, and this is what I wait for.

Finally, Shelly's hands come up from her lap and they weave out words themselves. Luckily, I'm one of the rare people who understood sign language. She signs out, 'You're not the only one who feels that about Ridley. Many people, like me for example, are jealous of her. She's pretty and got boys chasing after her.'

Once she signs out those words, I instantly feel guilty and selfish. You see, I'm a ridiculously selfish person that I don't notice what other people might feel. I already knew what Shelly feels about Ridley, but there I was sprouting out things about Ridley, not thinking about how Shelly would feel.

"Sorry." I slowly sit up straight, my eyes squinting at the drawings on the blank walls. The corners of the room are so dark they seem to be contagious that they spread through my veins and chilling me to the bones. "I'm always going on about my problems. You must find it extremely irritating."

Shelly frowns, puzzled at my words. 'What do you mean? Why would I find you irritating? I don't mind listening to you.'

I sigh, shifting my gaze down to my intertwined fingers, the skin on them raw and calloused. I glance at the clock on the bedside table, judging its time carefully. "We should really ought to head to the square now, else we'll be late and get into trouble."

I stand up wearily, my legs weak and fragile. Shelly grabs my wrist, regaining my full attention. 'Are you going to wear that?' She points at my clothes and raises an eyebrow.

I follow her gaze and chuckle a little at the sight of my dishevelled clothes. "Shell, clothes never mattered to me. And anyway, I don't have anything better."

She pauses until she eventually shrugs, realising the true reason behind my words. Standing up, she links arms with mine, her skin brushing against mine. We stride through the doors, chatting away with gossip we overheard in the District. We mostly hear the gossip from Ridley as she is at the top of the social ladder, and because we're at the bottom of the ladder so we don't have any other friends with the exception of Percy.

* * *

As we walk to the square, the dread gradually building up in our stomachs, Ridley strides along with us. She holds her head up high, smiling and waving at the occasional friends she have. When me and Shelly left the house on our own, Ridley rushed out, her two inches high heels clicking on the hard ground as she dashed after us, and she simply said to us "I want to hang out with you two, it'll be nice to spend precious time together."

Even though she said she wants us to 'spend precious time together', I don't think she knows the same definition to 'precious' as we do as she keeps striding off in front of us and dismissing everything I say to her. Every time Shelly taps her shoulder so she would turn around to watch Shelly sign to her, Ridley would just toss her hair in a slightly offensive and disdainful way which gives off an attitude that she thinks she is better than us.

And yes, that is how important we are to Ridley Pond. But I know better. She's only with us, because she knows that Percy will catch up with us soon.

At the thought, I find myself restraining from yelling out obscenities to my arrogant sister, telling her that she doesn't fucking deserve Percy. Fortunately, Shelly's grip on my arm tightens as if she read my thoughts as usual. I squirm a little in Shelly's vicelike grip, but she flicks a stern look at me.

"Hello, douche-bags!"

My ears perk up at the familiar sound. I'd know that voice from anywhere. It's the only voice I would listen to for hours and hours on end without having to feel fed-up or bored. It's Percy.

We all swivel around to face the dark-haired boy sitting on a white-washed wall, one leg propped up lithely against his chest, a grin of mischief on his face. I involuntarily scowl as Ridley giggles lamely whilst she watches Percy jump down from the wall and wink at her. A woman in the house behind the wall runs out, shouting angrily at Percy, ordering him to leave her wall alone.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I needed someplace to sit on," Percy calls back without even looking over his shoulder. He saunters towards us, the light in his hair glinting. "Hey, Ridley. You look nice in that dress…"

Ridley blushes. "Thanks," she manages to squeak out.

I roll my eyes. Automatically I regret the eye-roll as Percy catches my eye and smirks.

"Jealous of something?" Percy says aloud, scoffing like he finds something funny. "Do you have a crush on your sister or something?"

"No! No, that's disgusting!" I cry out. Ridley and I exchange vile glances. I can't believe Percy would even suggest something like that. It's not Ridley that I have a crush on, not in a life-time would I like her more than that. It's Percy, not Ridley. "Percy, you need to grow up sometime…"

"Sorry for annoying you, Ty. If you want, me and Ridley can go off on our own," he snaps.

I'm speechless for a moment, and it's seems evident that Ridley is having a loss at words as well considering she is just standing there, gaping at Percy in surprise. Thankfully, Shelly takes control of the situation in her wonderful, polite manner.

'Oi, you guys, stop yapping over nothing like dogs and get on with the day. We're meant to be in the square, not here having a bitch fight.'

"A bitch fight? That's for girls," Percy cries out, obviously taking what she said as offensive. Out of all people who understood Shelly—I, Percy, Ridley and mother all understood Shelly's sign language.

'Exactly. You're all being girls for arguing over nothing. Now get all of your asses up and going,' Shelly signs out furiously, her hands flashing through the words in a lightning speed. It is obvious that she is in a bad temper after that little squabble.

"Okay, Shell," Percy mutters. "Whatever you say, Your Majesty."

* * *

Once we're in the square and gotten our fingers pricked, Shelly and Ridley waved goodbye to me and Percy before going off to their sections. Percy's mood seems to be lifting up finally, to my relief as I hate feeling like I pissed him off. It is gradually getting crowded in the square with the quick flow of throngs of people rushing in. The sky is clear, with only the occasional puff of grey cloud crossing the sky for a moment. On the rooftops are cameras, all poised like buzzards waiting and watching for prey. On the stage set up only for temporarily in front of the Justice Building is the mayor, the escort and the only mentor.

"I swear that the mayor is getting thinner and thinner each year. What do you think is up with him?" Percy leans in to whisper into my ear. I can feel his warm breath on my neck, and the adrenaline in my veins quickens up. Every time Percy is close to me, I can practically feel the heat radiating off him, imagine what it is like to arm my arms around him and…kiss him—

"Tyrion! Hey, dude," a voice suddenly approach us, puncturing through my thoughts and making them scatter all across the ground. I scowl, feeling like a wrath towards this new-coming person. Turning, I recognise the interrupter. His name is Isaac, and he and I are getting closer these days due to the project we have to complete together for school.

"Hey, Isaac. How are you?" I greet him politely, shoving all of the negative plans I was making for the interrupter out of my head.

Isaac grins at me, nodding all the while like a puppet loose in its strings. "I'm good, thanks. You?"

"Fine, just want this to be over with," I reply. Percy nudges me, raising his eyebrows. "Oh, this is Percy…my friend. Percy, this is Isaac."

Percy leans forward, his dark locks licking at his cheekbones as he smirks. Isaac smiles back and shakes his hand in a brisk, polite manner. Percy watches him carefully, a spark in his eyes. "You must be Tyrion's boyfriend."

I'm shocked to the bone. "_What!?_ What the fuck, Percy? I don't have a boyfriend." I glance at Isaac, embarrassed and blushing. He meets my gaze, his eyes heavy and dark, and there is a hint of something in them… What is it? Disappointment? Shame? Hopeful? Whatever it was, I was too late to catch glimpse of it as he averts his eyes.

"I was just joking, Ty. So chill," Percy jests in a slightly taunting tone. He grins at the sight of my redness on my face and neck.

"I ought to go, then," Isaac murmurs quietly, apparently he's avoiding my eyes as he keeps glancing around at other people surrounding us. "Bye, lads."

I dismissively wave in his direction as he walks off. Once Isaac is out of sight, I swirl onto Percy. "Isaac and I are only working on a project for school, that's all." For some reason, I feel hurt that Percy would think I was dating another boy apart from him.

Percy sighs and rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I was only kidding," he mutters. "But I think that Isaac likes you…"

I frown at that. Is he making another joke? "Really?"

Percy shrugs. "That's what it looks like. Haven't you seen the way he looks at you? And, Ty, I don't care if you're gay. You're my best friend, so I'm here for you no matter what you are."

Momentarily, I'm speechless and as motionless as a statue. My veins automatically fill up with warmth. This is the first time ever that Percy is discussing something like this. And he says that he would still be my friend… But what he doesn't seem to realise is that it's him who I _like_. "May I ask, why do you think I'm gay?"

"Think about it, you never have a crush on a girl. You never understand how other boys like girls, you never get turned on." Did he just say turned on? Percy smirked at my facial expression, but continues. "I mean, you never had a girlfriend _ever_. So maybe you're…you know."

So, finally he has figured it out. Even though Percy is my best friend and crush, he is the dumbest person I know. He's a jock who misses out all of the signs I give him. And he figured it out finally, unfortunately that is on the Reaping Day…

A dense hand clamped down onto my shoulders from behind. I literally jump out of my skin. Seriously, why can't some people just call out my name or walk around to face me? It's not that hard. I swear that if people keep shocking me to the bone, I would die of shock.

Percy's eyes widen in fear combined with surprise as he stares at the person behind me. Because of the look in his eyes, I involuntarily gulp, attempting to swallow away the rising bile in my throat. Who can it possibly be? One of the bullies? No, Percy would casually tell them to fuck off. The mayor? Nah, why would Percy have that look in his eyes when he sees the frail mayor.

Is it a Peacekeeper?

This question goes unanswered in my head, so I eventually turn around to face whoever it is. And I was correct – it is a Peacekeeper. Worse, it is the Head Peacekeeper. He towers over me, his bulky shoulders blocking out the sunlight and casting a long shadow across my facial features, his grey eyes as hard and cold as steel. He has that permanent menacing look on his face, his mouth and eyes are lined by grim lines of age and aggressiveness. His name is Maddox Grey, and there is a rumour that his middle name is Cruel. But that rumour cannot be true as Cruel is not even a goddamn name.

"Is your name Tyrion Pond?" says the Peacekeeper, his voice as grim as ever.

"Yes," I manage to squeak out. It is hard to read his expression as his face is shadowed beneath the large, white helmet.

"You're coming with me," he says gruffly. And with that, he grabs hold of my collar, the fabric bunching up under his tight hold as he pulls me along with him. The crowds slowly part open as Maddox Grey half-drags me to the brim of the square, in the darkness so nobody would see us. I glance over my shoulder to see Percy dashing after us only to be grabbed by a flank of Peacekeepers whose job is obviously to prevent him from catching up with us.

Once we're in the dark, Maddox loosens his vicelike grip on me. "Do you know why you're here?" he asks me in a hard voice.

"No," I lie, well it's only a half-lie. I might do know why I'm here, though, but I have no idea which reason it could possibly be. There are too many answers jumping around in my head. Did he drag me here to tell me bad news? Tell me good news like my name is not in the reaping bowl? Or…ask me if I have been stealing…?

At the sight of his expression, I now have a good idea which answer it is… _Oh no, this is not going to be good. Somebody rescue me, please._

"I know that you have been stealing. Do you have any idea that it is a big criminal offense?" he growls menacingly. "You are a fool. But a clever fool…considering we didn't find out until yesterday."

"Yesterday?" I gulp nervously.

"Yes, the baker you stole from yesterday knew who you were." Maddox's face slowly turns red, he's definitely furious about this situation. "You're a criminal, and you're going nowhere. I'm going to get you arrested right after the Reaping, and you will be whipped."

Whipped…

I have no idea what it is like to be whipped, but it is indeed not nice. "Whipped how many times?" I whisper. It is no use to defend myself and lie that I'm innocent, because I'm rubbish at lying and he has caught me out.

Whenever I lie to my family or even a stranger, they just give me a suspicious look and say, "You're all red and sweating. You lied, didn't you?"

Maddox suddenly smiles slyly as he glowers down at me. "You will be whipped twenty times. Sadly, we don't enough evidence of your thieving for a death sentence."

Whipped twenty times? That is a fucking death sentence, though! How the heck would I survive twenty lashes of the wicked whip that Maddox keeps safe in his house? There's no possible way to get out of this now… I'm going to have to face twenty lashes of the whip which killed many people before.

"Now, go off on your way," Maddox snaps. "The mayor is nearly finished with his speech. Let's hope you don't get reaped, shall we?"

Suddenly, the thought of getting reaped resurfaces my mind. The possibility of me getting reaped and avoiding the whipping sounds lovely for the first time ever. But still, the thought gives me shivers. My skin is moist and sweating when I walk back into the square and stand by Percy who is staring at me. The air is suddenly humid and moist around me; the touch of it gives me shudders. I feel cold as bone whilst standing in the surrounding humid. My breath comes out raspy and shallow.

Percy is shaking my shoulders. I meet his eyes and realise that I drifted off into my thoughts that I didn't notice Percy trying to gain my attention. "Tyrion, Tyrion, Tyrion, look at me!" he demands in a frightened voice, the words flowing out from him in a quick pace. "What did he want? What happened?"

I part my lips open, but nothing come out. I try to muster up the words that I long to tell Percy. I want to tell him to look after my family, to love them all. Tell him that I love him. Tell him to never forget me. There's no chance that I would even survive the twenty lashes.

"Ty, what's wrong?" Percy cries out. But his voice dissolves like the mayor's voice becomes mute to my ears. The click of the cameras, the crowd's clamour and voices all dissolve to my eardrums. All I can hear is the _thump, thump, thump_ of my heart.

To my outright shock, Percy slaps me across the face.

And all of the noise returns. I glare at Percy, the sting on my cheek aching. I'm definitely going to have a bruise on there. Thanks to Percy.

"Why did you slap me?" I demand to know. All of my previous fear disappearing like salt in boiling water.

"I had to get your attention, idiot," Percy sighs. "Now what did The Cruel say to you? You looked so terrible after the discussion you had."

I shudder at the thought of Maddox and his whip. "He said that he now knows that I…steal. And I'm going to have twenty lashes of the whip after the reaping…"

"What. The. F-" Percy cries out in dismay, his blue eyes widening. "He found out? But…why didn't he talk to me as well? I mean, I steal with you."

"I guess you weren't spotted yesterday."

"It was yesterday?!" Percy gasps, regret growing in his eyes. "Oh crap. It's all my fault. It was my idea to steal from the baker…"

"It's not your fault," I say.

"It is. Oh god, I'm so sorry," he whispers. "We need to come up with a plan, to get you out of this whipping."

"Don't even bother. It's Maddox the Cruel, we're talking about."

"There have to be a way out of this situation…" Percy murmurs, deep in thought.

"Yes, and that is being reaped or volunteering."

Percy gasps, flicking his gaze towards mine. There is a look in them that say he doesn't think this is a good idea. "No, no, no. There's no way that is the only way out. You must not volunteer, okay?"

"Don't worry," I say flatly, "I'm not strong enough to volunteer." It is like I have lost a will in life, because everything is dull and drab to me. The sky is grey to me. Percy's eyes are grey. Even his touch seems to have the shade of grey. Percy opens his mouth, but he is automatically interrupted by the escort.

When the mayor finished spluttering his way through the Treaty of Treason speech, the escort with his vivid, ginger hair bounces onto the podium on the stage. He flashes a toothy grin, and the glittering rubies embedded in his teeth glint in the strong sunlight and dazzle my eyes.

As he stood there on the stage, smiling and nodding at the small applaud from the audience; you can see the mixture of make-up on his ghostly pale features. His entire appearance matches to a clown I've seen on television. His chalky skin, his wide smile with the rubies engraved in the teeth, his fake ginger hair and straight-out ridiculous and furious clothes. At every annual Reaping, he has come in bright, colourful clothes. Last year, he'd been wearing scarlet red. And this year, he's wearing…yellow. The yellow shade of the glittering suit gives a horrific contrast with the ginger hair and red teeth. He practically can't stop bouncing on his podium as he grabs the microphone and shrills down into it.

Also, his name is even more ridiculous. His name is Paris.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to the Reaping for the fourteenth Annual Hunger Games!" he screams down into the microphone, his voice resembling a cat yowling and the scrape of nails on a chalkboard. "I hope you all had a leafy day!" He pauses, as if he's waiting for applauds from the audience. He screws his face up in distaste. "C'mon, folks, cheer! I made a pun! Oh, you all are so depressing."

"Just get on with it!" a voice calls out from right behind me and Percy. I crane my neck to study the bloke who shouted out, but it's nobody special. Percy sighs, and I meet his gaze.

"I swear that I'm gonna bash Paris' head in. Just look at that afro!" Percy rasps out between chuckles. "Have you noticed that he always mention something like 'leaf' each Reaping?"

I nod simply, not in the mood to make jests with him. The merest thought of the whipping or the Hunger Games sends chills down my neck like an ice cube has slid down it. And nothing can distract me from thinking about them…

Paris sighs and shakes his head disapprovingly, the bouncing curls on his head jiggling wildly. He leans away from the microphone and mutters something to himself. I'm assuming that it's something about how much he despises us. Everybody knows how much Paris desires to be the escort of District One, because it associates with more fame and money.

"Let's do it traditional, shall we, and reap the female first?" Paris recites the similar thing he always says each year when he moves on with the reaping. He darts across the wooden stage towards the female's bowl, his heels clanking noisily on the wood. He dips his hand into the bowl and swirls it around, he watches our expressions with mild amusement before selecting a name from the bowl and jerks it out. He walks back to the podium and pries open the piece of paper with some misfortunate person's name on it. I close my eyes to pray that it's not Shelly, or even Ridley, whilst Paris calls out, "And the female tribute for District Seven is…Saffron Fray!"

I crane my neck around to give a quick scan of who the reaped person is. A girl with blonde ringlets stares tearfully at the stage and begins to make her way through the parting crowds in the thirteen years old section. She is small with very blue eyes. She resembles a delicate doll. In the distance, there is the sound of a wailing mother, sounding so lost and miserable.

Percy and I meet eyes. Somehow I feel ashamed whilst watching this girl walk up to the stage. She's so vulnerable and is most definitely a bloodbath…

"I volunteer as tribute!"

A raucous clamour of whispers and muttering ripples throughout the square. Practically everybody in the audience are gaping as a girl probably around the age of fifteen with auburn hair strides through the crowds and marching on beyond Saffron. She is unusually tall for her age, and she towers over everybody else. I would feel insecure next to her. When she is on the stage, she stares out over the audience with a tight grimace on her face. Or is it a smile? I don't really know…

"A _volunteer_?!" Paris exclaims in a loud shrill, his voice sounding like nails scraping on a chalkboard. He blinks momentarily, and then finally recovers and regains his usual stiff posture. He runs towards the girl with the red hair and sticks his hand out, the girl stares down at it and eventually shakes it rapidly. "What is your name, dear?"

"Kilea Fairbane," the girl says, and I vaguely heard it as her voice is scarcely audible.

"I introduce you, District Seven, your female tribute for the fourteenth Hunger Games, Kilea Fairbane!" And as Paris jerks the girl's arm up into the air, I watch her closely. She appears to be unusually pale; however I cannot tell if it is her complexion or the shock at the moment right now. Her arm is bare so I catch glimpse of freckles scattered all over them along with a small, crooked scar. I cannot really tell what eye colour she has due to the distance between us and the shadow covering her features.

"Now, it is time for the boys, eh?" Paris shouts out, grinning. He is now in a reasonably joyful mood, and I think I know why. It's _extremely_ rare for District Seven to have volunteers for the Hunger Games, and the last time we'd a volunteer was years and years ago. Kilea is like a hero to Paris.

Paris quickly selects a piece of paper from the male's bowl, obviously in the mood to get this done with so he could have a little chat with Kilea Fairbane. As the escort with his ginger afro unfurls the paper with a faked flourish, Percy and I briefly meet eyes. I long to tell him how much he means to me. I begin to reach towards him, to run my fingers through his hair, to feel the smoothness of his skin, to just touch him. Percy smiles at me, oblivious to my hand on his shoulder. At that exact moment, I felt like I was in a bubble, isolated from the rest of the world with the only Percy's company, except that is interrupted by the shock that comes afterwards.

"And our male tribute for this year is…Ty-Tyrion Pond!"

Initially, I just frowned, puzzled. At first I didn't realise that it is my name that was called out. The name was like a stranger to me. I was still in the bubble with Percy, floating above the square, floating towards the clouds.

But then the bubble bursts open, frays of happiness becoming part of the useless debris on the ground beyond, and I tumble through the sky and towards the reality.

"It's you…" Percy whispers, he's so near that I can practically feel his breath on my ear, "It's you. It's you. It's you. But that's… This is not fair."

It _is_ not fair.

But considering that I would've been whipped after the reaping, I guess this is my tough, last luck.

"Well, come on up!" Paris yells out in my direction, impatient. How did he know I'm the tribute? Is it too late for me to run away? Then I realise that everybody is staring at me, waiting. I have scarcely any friends and many people view me as different and quiet so they often dislike me, therefore I'm not surprised to see the impassive, emotionless expressions on their faces.

I cast Percy one last look and whisper, "Goodbye." And then I stumble up to the stage. Many tributes would have been clever enough to put on a disguise over them and acted, however I'm too shocked to play as intimidating or unfazed. As I walk up to the stage, I feel the blood drain away from my face.

Once I'm finished with dragging myself up the stairs that felt endless, Paris dashes towards me and shoves me to my spot. Suddenly I trip on my way and Paris nearly runs over me in his frantic rush. The audience instantly burst out into fits of laughter. Fingers are pointing mockingly at me and Paris. I hear the dozen of name-calling whistles as I climb back to my feet and attempt to balance myself. My mouth snaps open at the laughter coming from the crowd. A furious blush floods my face and neck, unstoppable.

Paris purses his lips together, obviously trying to look unfazed and unaffected. However, he is wearing a mask of redness as well. Soon the laughter has eventually dispersed and is replaced by silent that invades the square, unwelcomed. Paris turns to face the audience and raises my arm up into the air. "Here's your male tribute, Tyra- Tyrian Pond!"

"It's Tyrion," I manage to mutter despite my loss at controlling myself. I force myself to ignore the several taunts coming from the audience. I peer over the audience and catch glimpse of Percy. His face is grim and dark; he appears to be furious and is glaring at the boys around him. I turn my eyes to the opposite side of the square and meet the eyes of Shelly. She looks sad with tears staining her cheeks. When she sees me looking at her, she puts on a strained smile.

I've never seen her look so sad before…

"It's Tyrion," I manage to mutter to Paris, blatantly trying to distract myself.

Paris ignores this with a blank expression; he pushes me in Kilea's direction. "Shake hands, kids."

Kilea's hand flashes over and clasps onto mine. I force myself not to recoil as I'm unusual to contact with strangers, so I move my focus from the coldness of her skin to the colour of her eyes. They are a smokey grey. She appears to be trying to smile at me, but instead the smile falls and she winces. She volunteered, so she must be like the Careers (the tributes from District One, Two and Four. They are ruthless and cruel). Therefore, I cannot trust her as the Careers are known for back-stabbing others. What I muse over is the reason she volunteered…

I've never met her before, but I can see a few similar features in her face. I must have seen her before as she looks familiar. Then I suddenly remember, she often walks around the District with her younger brother. But that is all I know about her.

Apprehension and dread swell up in my throat as I realise that it is going to be like this with the rest of the tributes. I won't know _anything_ about them… It'll be impossible to get an ally if I can't learn to trust strangers. And trust, itself, is a stranger to me.

We break away and face District Seven for the last time. I catch the eyes of Maddox the Head Peacekeeper. He seems to be disappointed. I gulp and glance to my feet; it's too difficult to look at the people I used to know.

Relief floods through me when Paris gestures for me and Kilea to turn around and enter the Justice Building. However this relief isn't going to last forever, it'll soon be replaced by dread and fear when I meet my enemies for the first time.


	8. District Eight Reapings

**A/N- **Just so you all know in case you were reading Thirteen before it was discontinued, well the Games chapters that were written have been posted, there are only a few but check them out if you want xD Anyway enjoy District Eight! :D

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**Dakota Phillips, District Eight Female**

_**ImmyRose**_

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It was hard to believe that some people in my district thought being me was a good thing.

Why yes, that did sound conceited of me, but when you were fortunate enough to be rich in a district renowned for its widespread poverty, it was inevitable that people would look up to you with envy and hatred. One could practically hear the jealous thoughts that occupied their minds every time I walked by.

"_Why does such a horrid, bratty child get everything while we starve?"_

"_I swear that girl gets whatever that she wants. How is such a spoilt child so fortunate?"_

"_It's all thanks to her sister that she's like that. Can you see her wearing such clothes if she couldn't afford them?"_

"_There is no way that she would be able to survive in the real world."_

You see, everybody presumed me to be that girl that didn't stand a chance in what they deemed to be 'reality'. They thought that I was nothing but some air-headed ditz that had gotten what they wanted once too often and that I would crumple like tissue paper if you even considered the possibility of piling _responsibilities_ on me. God forbid that you should let the notorious Dakota Phillips handle anything that required effort in her district; it was bound to be a disaster since I would be too overwrought at the mere thought of her nails chipping. It was even funnier since their initial impressions of me were anything but the truth. I would have laughed at this, but the effort that would need to be extended to actually perform the action would be wasted, so I remained stoic.

Yes, it was true that I was surrounded by luxury and wealth, but my life hadn't always been that way; something that most of my fellow District Eight citizens tended to conveniently forget when they judged me. I hadn't always acted like the girl I did today, but the fact that people were so quick to stereotype and judge people only worked to my advantage.

Tut tut, District Eight, it had only been four years since I had suddenly undergone my sudden 'personality transplant'; surely your memories should be better than _that_. Unfortunately for me though, it seemed that I was surrounded by simple-minded fools who couldn't see things for what they really were. If I actually cared about others, I would feel sympathy for those people who seemed to have such a limited perspective of the world. However, openly flaunting your emotions was only setting yourself up for disaster, and keeping your emotions bottled up would eventually lead to the deterioration of your sanity. And besides, there wasn't much point in getting so worked up over poverty, or the harshness of the Peacekeepers, or the Hunger Games, since expressing my opinions on these things would shatter my façade into dust. Eventually, I could witness those things happening all around me first-hand without blinking an eye. Some would call me cold-hearted for being able to turn a blind eye to hardship, or simply idiotic because – they say – I have never experienced the horrors of being lower-class first-hand. I begged to differ though; being able to witness, assess and judge events without having your emotions and beliefs overwhelming the real truth was a talent that should be valued. Luckily for me, it was a skill that I definitely possessed.

Occasionally, I considered the possibility of acting like a mature, sensible girl for a day or two, just to witness the shock on everybody's faces as they realised just how badly they had misjudged me. However, I had to bide my time until I was older. Then everybody would really see me.

At this moment in time, however, I had to make sure that my mask of stupidity was as solid as the make-up that emphasised my full lips and dark chocolate brown eyes. I had guests around my house, after all. Plastering a smile on my lips, I blink slowly at the other boy that was lying in my bed, making sure to convey the impression that I couldn't possibly have an ounce of intelligence with every move that I made. Gently, I outstretch a hand towards him, hoping that this delicate action would get the boy's attention and shock him out of the daydreaming state that he seemed to be stuck in. It seems to work, if his innocent blue eyes meeting my brown are any clue as to if I now command his attention. A satisfied smile curves his lips as he surveys me, a smile that only grows wider as his eyes focus on my almost exposed chest.

Resisting the temptation to roll my eyes at his predictability, I force my smile to grow bigger, as if it had made my day to see him in my bed when in reality, I wanted him to be gone as soon as possible. The effort required to placate this person, whose name currently escapes me, irritated me. Honestly, the only thing that I gained from this boy was him spreading rumours about how incredibly 'submissive' and 'dumb' I was once you got to 'know me' to his friends. Not like those misinterpretations didn't benefit me, but I didn't like it when these boys stuck around longer than they needed to. Despite what they always thought, I didn't actually like being treated like their personal servant; the only reason that I had even considered this option was because it further proved to everybody that I wasn't worth their respect and adoration.

His arms wrap around mine possessively as he grins, "Have fun last night?" He whispers in my ear. I can feel his body being pressed against mine, and I have to stop myself from pushing him back and slapping him. The fact that his breath reeks of alcohol doesn't help.

Had I gotten drunk last night? I hoped not; alcohol really wasn't great for your brain cells, neither did it help you with your thought processes, and while I had made it my mission to play the role of the air-headed ditz, I didn't actually want to become more stupid in the process. Fortunately, the lack of a hangover indicates that I hadn't done, although it meant that I could remember last night pretty well.

Well, wasn't that just _fantastic_ for me? Really, I was thrilled. Well, at least it showed that I had a decent memory, which was usually a good thing.

However, it's not as if I could exactly let him know these sarcastic thoughts that were occupying my mind. I can't just tell this guy what I really thought of him. What good would that do me? Instead, I opt for a high-pitched giggle which makes the boy sigh in exasperation. Clearly, he didn't appreciate the whiny, clingy persona that I wore like the tight-fitting pyjamas I was wearing, but there wasn't anything he could do about it,

"Absolutely," I manage to get out between the idiotic giggles that were spewing out of my mouth. My voice is embarrassingly high-pitched and breathy, but it's realistic enough to fool him into thinking I mean it, "You're welcome to come around again tonight." I bat my eyelashes again at him as I say this.

He unconsciously backs away from me, his alarm temporarily making itself known in his eyes and stiff posture. I automatically took that as a no, but continued to gaze at him obliviously as I awaited his answer. I had been doing this for several years now, so I knew that his answer would either be a haughty 'no' or an evasive 'maybe' that basically meant the same thing as the first possibility. Somehow, I got the impression that their reluctance to be associated with me had something to do with my oh-so-charming character and status in society. None of them wanted to be around me when I was pretending to be a whiny, self-centred bitch, unless they were screwing me, then they were allowed to love me.

"I'll see after the Reaping." He answers, not meeting my eyes. Trying to escape from me, he makes an attempt to roll out of bed but my grasping arms won't let him. Wouldn't it look a little unusual if I let him leave just like that?

"Aw, come on," I whine, pouting my lips dramatically as I lean on him, "There's still time left until the Reaping starts."

"Dakota," He tries and assert an authoritative tone, but this is ruined by the fact that he's still paying attention to the fact that I'm half-dressed, "I said that I'd think about it."

"I _know_ you did," I say, a slight patronising edge to my words, "But they all say that, and then I never see them again." For a second, I have to admire my own genius. Not only do I sound like I want him to stick around, I also reminded him that he wasn't the first person that I had slept with, all while still sounding like a silly little girl. It was just perfect.

His face screws up in an expression of disdain at me, presumably thinking about how much of a slut I was. I don't get too much time to think about this though as he forcefully shoves me off him, "Bloody hell, Dakota, you never stop bitching, do you? Why do you care so much anyway?" He assesses me as I cower away from him, making sure to come across as a hapless little girl who could _never_ defeat a man. This only makes his eyes harden as he towers over me, "You're pathetic."

Those happen to be his parting words to me as he gets out, snatches his clothes and storms out. However, I can't help cheekily adding, "Don't let Tabitha catch you!"

I don't hear his response, but I can guess that his reaction to that is anything but positive – nobody's reaction to my sister was positive. Anyone who did any wrong when she was around would be instantly criticised and judged by her, which doesn't make her particularly popular among District Eight. What can I say? We Phillips siblings are not renowned for being likeable. In any case, I hoped that he didn't get caught by her, although she was probably still asleep. Not many people tended to be up at seven in the morning, not even my workaholic parents. I hardly ever saw my entire family, despite the fact that there were only four of us. Mainly because Tabitha always made an effort to avoid us and be alone, while my parents made no secret of their disappointment in us. According to them, Tabitha was creepy while I was considered useless to the family. Even when my sister had been taken away, my parents hadn't cared.

"_Mummy, aren't you two supposed to be watching the Games?" Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my parents sneaking out of the draughty room that masqueraded as a living room. The only reason that it was known as that was because of the dinky old TV that was placed on the wooden table._

_My mum whirls her head around, looking like I did when she caught me trying to steal an extra potato at dinner time. As in, she looked really guilty, "Oh, don't mind us, Dakota. We're just going out to work."_

_I could tell she was lying, even back then. My parents never had to work in the evenings, and Mummy wouldn't look so guilty even if she had done. However, I'm more concerned by the events occurring on the television to be worried too much about that. My sister was officially in the Final Three of the Hunger Games, and the possibility of her arriving back home was plausible enough to put me on edge. All she had to do was outlast two others and things could go back to the way that they had been. I wouldn't be alone any longer if Tabitha was around again, and my parents would stop acting weirdly. Ever since my sister had been Reaped all those weeks ago, they never gave any sign that they really cared that one of their daughters was suddenly gone. On the contrary, they seemed almost happy that Tabitha wasn't here. But that was stupid; who would want their own child gone?_

_Maybe they were just acting weirdly because she was gone and they didn't want to break down into tears on the off chance that she did come back. If they were, they were doing a great job of that. I hadn't seen or heard my parents cry once about the fact that Tabitha might die in the arena. They had stayed eerily calm during the whole thing. This nonchalance had remained as the Games had stretched out, and not once had their façade cracked. _

_They had watched impassively as my sister had narrowly avoided an arrow fired by the District Seven girl in the bloodbath. It hadn't been the time when Tabitha made her first kill by poisoning the food supplies of the District Eleven girl. My parents hadn't even blinked when Tabitha had taunted the unstable District One boy and riled him up enough to accidentally stab himself with his own sword, although I had flinched away from the television at the time. The Final Eight interviews hadn't even snapped them out of their weird mood, which was impressive since the Capitol citizens were so out-of-place here. _

_Not once had Mummy and Daddy shown that her life meant anything to them, and I was starting to wonder if they even cared for us. Had the shock of Tabitha being Reaped numbed them to what she could face in the Games? Whatever the reason for my parents' indifference to her, it had only made the pain of losing my sister even worse. It felt like I had lost my parents as well._

_The door slamming shut breaks me out of my reminiscing of my parents' behaviour and my attention is drawn back to where two of the remaining contestants were facing each other. At first glance, the District Three girl and the District Ten boy were alone as they glared at each other, but closer observation revealed a pair of brown eyes that were barely visible behind the giant metal pipe she sought protection in. The arena was set inside a giant factory, with giant conveyor belts providing the only method of getting around the arena. The fact that no conventional weapons had been provided in the arena had only worked to the lower districts' advantages; their resourcefulness meant that they could fashion weapons out of the scraps scattered around the arena far more effectively than the Careers. For the first time in several years, none of the Careers had made it to the Final Three, but my sister had._

_The clanging sound of metal colliding with metal rings across the arena as the Ten boy swings his weapon – a metal pipe – at the Three girl's head. Naturally, she dodges and swipes her glass shard at his stomach. It meets its target and I flinch as blood starts to coat the Ten boy's skin red. He hisses in pain, but this doesn't prevent him from swinging his weapon into the girl's head again. The movement was clumsy, and as he falls to his knees, it becomes apparent that the glass had punctured something vital in his body, despite the fact that the injury looked relatively minor on the outside._

_The Three girl had taken the full force of the metal pipe to her head, and she was slumped on the ground, clearly unconscious. Her injuries are less severe than that of her opponents, and she might have even won the Games by waiting it out had Tabitha not witnessed the fight. Fortunately for me, she wasn't as badly injured as the Ten boy and the Three girl, and I can feel a smile start to appear on my face for the first time in weeks. _

_My sister was coming home. She was going to win the Games. None of the others could defeat her, right? I mean, both of them were slowly dying on the floor anyway, weren't they? All Tabitha was doing was making the process quicker for them. That couldn't be so bad, could it?_

_Despite my excitement at the possibility of seeing my sister again, the mean smile on Tabitha's face as she surveyed the other two tributes makes me feel slightly uneasy. It didn't matter that I was hoping that she was acting with good intentions in mind, because she clearly wasn't. _

_Searching though her pockets, Tabitha sighs irritably when she realises that she doesn't possess a weapon. Instead, she chooses to take the pipe from the Ten boy's loose grip as the glass shard was still embedded in his stomach. For a moment, her eyes narrow in distaste at the grimy weapon that she was holding, but it doesn't stop her from raising it in the air and bringing it down on her opponent's head. There's a sickening thwack sound and he groans, clearly in pain. He tries to move away from this new threat, but almost immediately gives up when his wound becomes too much for him. The scene playing before my eyes – my sister continuing to bludgeon a boy who wasn't much older than her – finally hits home. This was actually happening. My sister was willingly beating this kid to death, without even trying to retrieve the glass shard and use that instead._

_The cannon fire confirms that the boy had succumbed to his injuries, and Tabitha turns to the other tribute. Her eyes, eyes that were once so full of intelligence and joy, were scarily flat. There wasn't any sign of empathy in Tabitha at all as she brought down the pipe onto the girl's head. No hesitation, no tears and no regret._

_This wasn't the girl that I had known. This wasn't my sister anymore._

That time, four years ago, had been when my entire perspective of the world had been changed. Back then, I had been middle-class and content with my life. We had enough to eat, I was receiving a fairly decent education and we had never had anything major happen to our family before, so I had never seen any reason to complain. Now that I'm older, I can tell how naïve I was for thinking that my family would go straight back to that after Tabitha had won the Games. Even though I had watched my sister personally kill two children, I had still clung onto the hope that she would still be the supportive, helpful person that she had been in my childhood.

What a waste that had been. I had been so worried about my sister that it hadn't even occurred to me that having to kill others would have affected her personality. That was how inexperienced and callow I had been back then.

I liked to think that I was different now, that I couldn't be surprised or shocked by people anymore by retreating into myself, making sure to note what others were like while revealing none of who I was. And what better way of doing that than by flaunting your presence to everybody? Why not pretend to be the girl that took so much pride in her own appearance to even be capable of deep thought? People were so judgemental, stuck in the stereotypes that dominated our society, that fitting in with the dumb girls hadn't even been that difficult.

Yes, I was surrounded by so many people, but I still felt like an outsider, merely observing the events that happened around me and never participating in them.

* * *

I look ready to attend a celebration when I've finished getting dressed. The dress that I'm wearing is a forest green colour and just about covered my knees, while my arms and back were left bare. A pair of light brown high-heels completes the outfit and to top it off, I'm wearing make-up. To most people in my district, make-up was something that was considered unnecessary to live, so the fact that I do make the effort to conceal my features under a layer of powder and lipstick on a regular basis only highlights how extravagant my life is, how spoilt I must be.

Maybe I was a little bit though, but if you were surrounded by such luxury, wouldn't you be as well? Of course, I knew that becoming complacent with my way of living was a bad idea when you were young enough to be Reaped into the Hunger Games – which were not exactly renowned for five star accommodations – but after a few years, you couldn't help but expect others to make your needs and wants a priority due to your status and wealth.

It was only natural that the more money you possessed, the more influential you were in Panem. After all, money was one of the fundamental pieces in making sure that our society continued to function as it did now. It was a method of exchanging one thing of value for another that was solidly, universally accepted across all of Panem, so it made perfect sense that the more coins you had, the more you could access this way of trading items and benefit from it.

On the other hand, the way that money was unevenly distributed across my districts, and indeed, all the districts, was the cause of a lot of resentment among the lower classes. Here I was, pretending to worry about the possibility of getting mud on my shoes, and then you had large families struggling to feed their children. However, I will freely admit that I don't care enough about this to try and help out. It wasn't as if one seventeen year old girl could do anything to 'make everybody equal' or whatever.

Even among my family, who were all of equal wealth, there were still divides that gold couldn't fix. My sister, who was only twenty years old, never needed to go to work again thanks to her victory in the Games. Obviously, this had made her more successful in the eyes of the Capitol. I, on the other hand, had always been considered a failure to my family, even back when we had been living like most of the other District Eight citizens. The fact that I didn't appear to possess any skills that were required to survive here didn't help.

Walking over to the bookcase, I take a second to admire the dark mahogany wood that my fingertips slid over gracefully before I shove the full force of my body against the side of the wooden structure. However impressive that may sound, that 'full force' didn't actually amount to much since I wasn't exactly strong or well-built, so it takes a while for me to sufficiently move the bookcase out of the way so that the loose floorboard was no longer hidden. The dust that had settled in the gaps between the planks of wood would probably end up ruining my nails, but I could clean them later.

I had still retained some of my curious nature from childhood when we had first moved into Victor's Village, and when you coupled this with the fact that nobody else had won the Hunger Games in District Eight before Tabitha, it had led to me exploring every nook and cranny in this house. My wild imagination had hoped that somewhere in this mansion, there was a portal to a new world where I could play for hours. Funnily enough, I hadn't discovered that fantasy world, but I had found out that a few of the floorboards could be shifted, if one was willing to endure getting splinters in their fingers whilst doing so. Now that I was used to storing things underneath the floorboards, the chances of me getting a splinter were minimal, which was only a good thing for me. People were hardly going to expect me to do anything that would ruin my appearance now, were they?

Prying open the floorboard, I gently take out the picture that I had from long ago. The colours had faded over time and had been smudged together when I had accidentally spilled my drink over the picture one time, but you could still make out the smiling, happy figures of four people as they posed for the camera. It was obvious that it had been taken a long time ago, since I looked barely twelve in the picture. I hadn't bothered to brush my hair that day and my erratic curls were stuck out everywhere. There was also a stupid grin on my face, as did my parents and sister. Yes, even Tabitha had been smiling that day.

I wasn't really sure why I still kept this picture of my family; maybe I hoped that my entire childhood hadn't been a lie, that my family had once been genuine and content, instead of being a façade from the start. Of course, there were more recent pictures that involved my family being happy, but that was only to maintain an image of a functional, normal family that supported the Capitol and were totally fine with the fact that one of their daughters had been thrown into a death match.

Secretly, I found the Capitol intriguing. Not in the way that the Career districts thought – or seemed to think, anyway – but I was curious as to what went on in the minds of those that had instated the Games and continued to advocate them now. I didn't like the Capitol, but I did want to know what it was like in the self-proclaimed paradise that was the Capitol, what dirty little secrets were nestled deep in the heart of Panem.

And if I was oh-so-lucky, I would find out today.

* * *

Turns out that wearing high heels and a dress in the pouring rain wasn't a good idea.

Anybody with an ounce of common sense would already know this, but since I was pretending to be the liability in my family, this was an excellent chance for me to complain about how the weather would ruin my hair and make-up.

"Oh my gosh, this is just atrocious!" I whine in a childish voice, gesturing to my saturated curls, "My hair is a mess."

"You actually know the meaning of atrocious?" Tabitha snipes, giving me a disdainful look as she walks with me to the Reaping, "I didn't realise that you were capable of using such sophisticated words such as that."

I have to stifle a giggle at her insults, but opt for an eye roll instead, "Who cares? I look awful. Just look at my shoes." I lift up my foot so that Tabitha can get a clear view of the dead leaf that's plastered to the heel of my shoe.

She just sighs in response and lengthens her strides, presumably in an effort to move away from me and my empty complaints. If I had been in her shoes, I would have done the same, only I would have been more subtle about doing so.

Reaching the town square, I continue to babble on about nothing to the people waiting with me in the queue. There was a certain satisfaction that I felt when I noted the irritated expressions on everyone's faces. It felt good to know that you could make any form of impact on someone's mood by simply being around them. I liked to think that it implied a sense of power over the person that you were affecting, and it was far easier to inspire negative emotions inside a person than positive. My little act was only a prime example of this.

"Ever heard of personal privacy?" I snap at the Peacekeeper that tried to grab my hand and stab a needle in it, "You'll ruin my skin doing that!"

The Peacekeeper looks at me exasperatedly, "I'm sorry, your Grand Highness, but it's a requirement." The sarcasm in her voice was blatant, and I heave a long sigh in apparent submission.

"Fine, you have my permission," I reply with a grandiose air, elegantly outstretching my hand so that she can take my blood sample. Behind me, I can hear sniggering, probably directed at my preposterous mannerisms.

You kind of got used to it after a while.

Whatever vicious whispering and gossip I had caused were instantly overthrown by the roaring sound of a motorcycle. Mere seconds later, a leather clad person makes their grand entrance, skidding to a stop near the stage. No prizes for guessing who _this_ guy is. It's not as if motorcycles were commonplace around here, so only somebody rich would be able to afford one. My suspicions are confirmed by the tacky gold skulls that adorn the leather outfit.

"Hello District Eight!"

Oh joy, our escort is here.

Otherwise known as the _lovely_ Nile, who is decidedly as idiotic and shallow as the majority of the escorts. He is also the most hardcore guy that you will ever have the pleasure to meet, or so he says. Personally, I would love to see him actually rough it out in the arena, then we'll see how long his 'hardcore' attitude would last. My sister absolutely abhors his company, which doesn't surprise me at all. Tabitha only has a liking for those considered 'intelligent' and Nile was anything but that. She wasn't a fan of me either.

Nile's annoyingly boisterous voice draws my attention away from his appearance and back to what he's actually saying, "Who's pumped for this year's Games?"

His words echo across the square, left unanswered by the residents of my district. Our silence to his question clearly doesn't go down well with him, judging by the way that he clenches his fists immaturely, "Alright, alright, let's get on with it." He continues in a sulky voice, like he's a spoilt child that had just been told the words 'no', before he proceeds into reading the Treaty and showing the video of the Rebellion.

Usually, I would make an attempt to tune out the words, but Nile was immature enough to recite the Treaty in an pompous way, obviously trying to show everybody how badly he was taking our earlier silence. If he was trying to make any of us feel sorry for him, he was going about it the wrong way. We were the ones that had to endure several hours of this mind-rotting propaganda before sending off two children to die in the Hunger Games. This was just wasting valuable seconds of my life here. I could be educating myself back at home if I wasn't forced to listen to this, but no, my brain cells were being subjected to this instead.

Did I mention that it was raining? Add all those things together and I had one hell of a crappy day on my hands.

The video finally ends and Nile – who's mood clearly hadn't been restored by the Capitol-made video – stamped over to where the glass bowl where the names of every girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen were. I can guarantee that nearly every girl in this square didn't want their name to be the one that rang across the plaza, including me.

Painstakingly slowly, he dips a hand in the bowl and fishes out a slip of paper. Drops of rain are already starting to soak into the paper and Nile shields it with his palm as he glowers at the clouds for a moment, clearly aggravated with the bad weather.

I guess it was too late to stress about it now, but I was desperately hoping that my name wasn't the one that Nile had picked out. It wouldn't be fair if I had to go through five other Reapings just to get chosen now. I was so close to being free from this forever; it would only be one more Reaping after this.

_Please don't let it be me, please don't let it be me. _I repeat those words in my head like a mantra, as if saying it could possibly protect me from the Capitol.

"And for District Eight's super hardcore female tribute, we have Dakota Phillips!" Nile's voice seems to drill into my skull like a woodpecker, the deformed Capitol accent meaning that I don't even realise what he's said until I feel someone nudge me from my side. That's when it sinks in; I've just been Reaped.

_No, this can't happen to me! I was so close to escaping the Capitol's games. This isn't fair._

I can feel tears starting to well up in my eyes at this injustice and I keep my gaze fixed on the floor. Why did this have to happen to me? Couldn't the Capitol leave my family alone? More importantly, couldn't they leave _me_ alone? It wasn't as if I had taken part in the rebellion or anything, so why was I being punished?

The answer pops into my head moments later. I was the only relative of Tabitha Phillips – District Eight's only victor – that was eligible to participate in the Games. One could only imagine the drama, the excitement that would be generated by having not one, but two members of the same family in the Hunger Games. It had been a nightmare last year for District One, having two relatives of victors volunteering for the Games. Suffice to say, neither of them were alive now, and it was apparent that I would be joining them if I didn't watch out.

It's then I realise that from now on, the cameras were going to be concentrated on me until the moment my cannon fired, and my district were hardly going to be backing me up. Everyone thought that I was nothing but a weak little girl that would die in the bloodbath.

So why not continue to reinforce that impression now? If people expected me to be so damn useless, there wasn't any point in letting them down now, was there? I had been flaunting myself as a hopeless person that would be considered inadequate for years in case this had ever happened, and since it had done, I needed to act. Lifting my head slightly, I try not to flinch as I fall backwards, letting my arms go limp and lifeless.

_This is going to hurt. _

It's the last thought that I have before my head is knocked back against the concrete and I can't stop myself from exhaling as the air is knocked out of my lungs from the unrelenting concrete. The pain in my back is nothing compared to what my head is feeling from being slammed into the ground. It feels like fireworks have just been set off in my head, but I resist the temptation to moan in pain. I'm supposed to have been rendered unconscious by this, although my ability to process things is still intact.

Rough hands grab and haul me up, and I try not to flinch away from the heavy breathing that I can hear as I'm carried over to the stage. I can feel the butt of a gun digging itself into my back, indicating that it's a Peacekeeper who has come to my 'rescue'.

The headache that my playing dead act caused is only intensified when said Peacekeeper unceremoniously dumps me on the stage, and I decide that now is a good time to 'wake up'. Groaning, I stretch my arms and blearily open my eyes, working on making them unnaturally wide and scared-looking – not like feigning fear was particularly difficult at this precise moment in time. My legs still felt as if they couldn't support my body weight, but at least I wasn't shaking uncontrollably anymore. However, I don't make eye contact with anyone and control to toy with my fingers instead, trying to look as hopeless as I can.

Nile just gives me a disgusted look before storming over to the boys' glass bowl. Each footstep resonates though my head and as I clamber onto my own two feet, Nile announces the name of the other condemned child here.

"As for our _super_," For some strange reason which is completely beyond me to figure out, Nile didn't seem to class me as anyone threatening, "hardcore boy tribute, we have Magic Ayerzuela!"

Unlike me, the bad news doesn't take several seconds to sink in for this guy. However, when this Magic guy does realise what's happened, he doesn't take it the best way. Stunned, I watch as a unusually tall boy bolts from the eighteen year old section, trying to volt over the gate and escape from the fate that the Capitol had damned him to. He's a very fast runner, almost reaching the gate before a Peacekeeper takes out his gun and shoots.

My gasp is inaudible over the sound of the gunshot, and Magic stumbles over. Luckily for him, the Peacekeeper had been aiming for his foot and not his head. Or maybe that was a bad thing when you contemplated the fact that we were both representing District Eight in the Hunger Games this year.

In retrospect, I really should have seen this coming. Everybody knew that the Capitol wouldn't mind rigging the Reaping so that certain kids they wanted in the Games had to enter. It was one of those unsaid things that anybody with a little thing called common sense knew. Unfortunately for me, this rule meant that due to my family, I would now be participating in this death match.

This realisation had been with me for years now, ever since my sister had survived the Hunger Games, and I hated it. Was this any way to live, with you expecting the Games to claim your life thanks to your sister?

Well, if I really wanted to pin the blame on someone else, I really should be looking at the Capitol. I had known that they would want to hurt me somehow, purely because of who I shared blood with, but I figured that the fact I didn't share a close relationship with my sister would have kept me off their hit-list.

It appears that I had misjudged the Capitol once again.

* * *

**Magic Ayerzuela, District Eight Male**

_**Blue Eyes Arch Angel**_

* * *

The last thing I remember is pain.

That's not particularly useful; that could refer to any part of my life. My brain racks itself trying to remember the last twenty four hours. Come on; come on, what happened to me?

There was…there was someone. A girl? Probably. Someone dressed in white too. I always remember the colour white. It's a pure colour. Pure like my skin. Pure as peace. Peace, like the peacekeeper-

A crash of thunder roars outside the room, causing me to jump violently. I hate storms.

AGH! A horrific pain throbs in my head and my foot. Wait, why my foot? My teal eyes direct very slowly downwards but then bile rises in my throat. The lower hem of my left trouser leg is stained a sickly red, matching my hair, and is still rather damp. There's a round wound on where my ankle is. Or was. I can't determine the extent of the damage. All I can tell for the time being is that it's going to leave a permanent injury. My head sharply turns back to the rest of the room, not being able to bear such a disgusting sight much longer. I gaze around and try surveying my surroundings. Maybe it will help to recollect some memories. The room is rather dark with no windows, which is rather unnerving. Claustrophobia seems to creep into me. No matter though, I breathe according to my breathing exercises for my normal states of panic. Once I'm fine I survey again. The only other items in the room seem to be simple pieces of furniture. Am I in a house maybe? Myself, I seem to be curled up slightly on some sort of tattered chair. That can't be it though. On closer inspection, there is a door. Even better, to satisfy my curiosity it seems to be open a slight crack. I circle my foot slightly to assess for any pain. Unfortunately a sharp pain not unlike that which comes with an electric shock pierces every vein of mine. This time I cannot help but utter a squeak, groaning and gritting my teeth like I've done with all previous hurt.

"OI! What are you yelling about in 'ere?"

Someone storms through the door which results in me falling out of my chair. That loud, booming voice seems so devil like. They step closer so I wrap my legs closer to my chest and keep my head down.

"OI! I'm talking to you" he roars. I only sink further back. Something roughly grabs my arm and rips it away. I have no shame in admitting the tears flowing from my eyes by this point. Though my vision is blurred I spare a daring glance at my confronter.

It's a peacekeeper.

But why? Why would a peacekeeper be here?

…

No. Not today. It couldn't have been today. It can't be reaping day. It couldn't have been me. No way. Never.

The man grunts and drops my arm which slumps to the floor.

"Pathetic little weasel. Oh hell looks like you got some visitors after all. Who would wanna converse with some weakling like you I'll never know"

He doesn't even give me time to let that insult sink in, as three more people shuffle in hurriedly. One wraps their arms tightly around me. Upon instinct I shrink back into an even smaller ball. The warmth of human contact sends (ironically) a cold shiver up my spine. The arms slide away but the person they belong to doesn't leave, so my head keeps its gaze on the floor.

"…Magic? Are you okay?" A soft, gentle voice whispers. That voice could only belong to one person I know. With caution I raise my head and to some sort of relief I see Chantelle, Islera and Shawvelly. Three of my best customers and three girls I could even possibly call my friends. Well, if I weren't constantly trying to get as far away from them as possible. Chantelle, the one who spoke, seems to still be awaiting an answer.

"I-I'm alright" I stutter quietly, disguising hurt. As normal, Shawvelly's face twists into anger. I brace myself for what's to come.

"OF COURSE YOU'RE NOT ALRIGHT! YOU JUST GOT BLOODY REAPED THEN SHOT IN THE BLOODY ANKLE! YOU CALL THAT 'ALRIGHT'? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR INGENIUOS SENSES? GET A GRIP!"

I've curled back into my shell again. Shawvelly's always scary when she shouts. I expect to her yell more but as she finishes her sentence it leads off into a choked sob. That's unusual. Curiosity overwhelms me to look up and to my surprise she's…crying. Islera has her tanned hand on her shoulder, whispering soothing words to calm her. The flow of tears never stops though. I look back to Chantelle. From her facial expression I realise today must have been a day from hell, maybe not just for me. I just can't bear this, all these blanks and hints and pain. I seriously want to know:

"Please…wh-what h-happened t-to me?" I manage to whisper.

She begins her story.

* * *

The furthest back she informs me of was her visit to my tailor shop early this morning. Images of bright colours, velvets, silks and cottons flash by swiftly. She asks me to work my memory back logically, so I stop her before she goes any further with what she recalls. Memories from before these events are suddenly flooding back. Well, not too many. I remember my usual morning routine. Getting up, getting dressed, making breakfast for my folks (bless them, bedridden till their final days) because I don't really eat much, then taking my trip to the grand town hall to take out the tesserae for the three of us. After that…oh that's right I was ambushed again by Lucan and his cronies along with sweet Calian. I'm not sure if I was hurt this time. I noticed no scars beside the vicious wound on my ankle. Was that the cause? Probably not.

After that…

I remember…getting home. My parents were still upstairs, coughing violently which made me jump at first, so I made a simple lunch for them. There were no thank you's but that didn't matter. It was by then I realised it was about to open the shop, so I had gone to the design studio…OH RIGHT THE HORROR! Clothes piled everywhere on the floor as though a hurricane had invited itself in, and even worse somehow one of the dresses had become ripped! Now that I would remember because the unsymmetrical tears just drove me crazy! I think Islera knows best when anything is un-neatly cut. She'll never ask for her dress to be shortened again.

Chantelle is urging me to go back on track. Right, after fixing that dress…um…

"S-sorry, it's all b-blank" I mutter. Damn it, why can't I remember? Was it something traumatising?

"Don't tell me you can't remember that girl?" Shawvelly intervenes sharply. Islera pulls her back slightly.

What girl? Wait, Chantelle mentioned she and the others had visited my shop again this morning.

"It wasn't just the three of us Magic; do you not remember any other customers you had today?"

I strain and struggle to remember and somehow a face comes to mind. And a smile. A haunting smile.

A little more memory fades back. After fixing the dress, which took me a couple of hours at the smallest estimate, a knock had echoed down the hallways. Assuming who it was I had opened the door without a second thought of looking out the polished windows. Then…oh no I remember the shock.

Chantelle, Islera and Shawvelly were still there, smiling as per usual. I think Shawvelly was complaining about me answering the door too slowly and Islera was giving her apologies in her place whilst Chantelle was…looking behind. To the back of the group were more people of whom I didn't recognise.

That's when the shock must have kicked in.

At first, she seemed utterly flawless. Her face seemed almost like a pretty little heart. Such a shape that would make a perfect pattern on a dress. Good thing I remembered that, I could use it for future designs…

Anyway, back on track I remember she had striking dark red hair like my own, beautiful, long, sleek and shiny…

But her eyes. Her eyes scared the life out of me. It's like…like death had looked me straight in the eye and torn out my soul. I think I'd frozen in place, because she gave me odd looks. The muscle-bound guy to her was also giving me the same look. He was pretty cute too…

EEK! Yeesh, I hate it when Chantelle snaps her fingers. Right, what happened next…?

Shawvelly's huffing. That's right! She was huffing earlier too, at the mysterious girl who was giggling rather too loudly, looking like she was nearly squeezed to death under the man's hold around her waist. I know if that were me I'd be choking from a lack of breath by now. She had responded to this by playfully stroking his cheek and flirtatiously asked him to stop, by which he replied with a peck on the cheek. I remember the girls were not so impressed at this display. That didn't seem to matter however to this girl, as in an instance she had forcefully ripped her way through the girl's barrier, right in front of me. It was terrifying. It's like a nightmare. She…she slowly extended her hand, but before I knew it, I felt a crack on the back of my head (which explains why my head is hurting so much now) and then my entire vision went white.

The white again. Why is such a pure colour always haunting me?

By the time the white had faded, the girls (well, Chantelle mostly as the other two were too busy glaring daggers at my mystery customer) were fussing over my bruised head. I really hate people touching me. If I'm right I tore away and ran off further into the shop to address my newest customer. It was one of the most frightening experiences I have ever encountered, I swear! She took her time choosing incredibly slowly, snaking round the room with the elegance of a pure-bred cat. Every so often she would examine one or two dresses, picking them up between her thumb and forefinger before dropping to the ground, complaining that they're probably ridden with my many filthy, disgusting germs that would have tainted each of them

Me? Filthy? NEVER!

If it weren't for my social anxiety I would have scolded her then and there, discarded her from the shop and carefully place the dresses back on their hangers. It kills me that I can never stand up for myself like that. Instead, I had just uttered a quiet squeak and an:

"I,s-sorry"

Of which she just smirked, flicked back her hair and went back to her search. After some more outrageous comments and tedious waiting I think she had finally placed some interest in a dress.

The colour?

I look around the current room. Damn it; there's nothing but a luscious shade of chestnut brown. Perfect for a dress colour but not quite what I need at this point. I finally rest my gaze upon Islera and that gorgeous green dress.

Of course! Green!

Right, it was then she picked out that dark green dress. One of my best works too, if I do say so myself so she does have a keen eye for fashion. It was sleeveless, knee length, fairly plain but rather sexual with an open back, cut out with exquisitely neat edges. Perfection in simplicity. She had strutted over towards it and then turned her head to me. Her smile was very crocodilian.

"Oh, THIS is nice. I'll have this, if you don't mind" she had asked, dripping with sickly sweetness, poisoning my mind until I could speak no longer. Shawvelly's chuckling. Why? Oh, that's right she had yelled "WHORE!" which seemed to actually have no effect on the girl.

She asked for the price.

The fear was immense. I had scrambled for a piece of paper on the counter to scribble the price down on, and with violently shaking hands I had given it to her. When she snatched it I had just fallen back. All the energy felt like it had been drained through my hands to her, because my legs had buckled and left me collapsed on the floor. After that I believe she hadn't uttered another painful word, but had simply placed the money on the counter, eyed the girls one last time then left with the other guy's arm slowly snaking its way back round her waist.

And I still couldn't forget her eyes.

* * *

"And we left after that" Chantelle completes my sentence.

"Because you practically kicked us out!" Shawvelly interrupts.

"Because you were…well…in tears…and…um…we know you like to be left alone...and…" Islera says, pausing every so often as her voice chokes up. She's starting to sound a bit like me, but with slightly less stuttering. It's quite sad really.

"But we're really REALLY sorry! We shouldn't have left you like that!"

Silly girl. I like to be left alone. I don't like people.

I've realised when I'm alone I can do what I please, I can live without pain. I can be as creative and wild as I please without their incessant voices condescending my every action.

I can be free.

"Magic?"

I don't answer. I can't answer.

"Magic…were you, well, okay once we left?"

Come to think of, I wasn't. I'm not about to let on. I can't…I couldn't tell them…I just couldn't…

"Magic"

I move back, away from them and their touch. I don't want their touch; it's beginning to frighten me again.

And why should they know anyway? It's my life, my personal feelings. They couldn't understand. This…this is why I cannot stand people, they never understand, they never help and they will always hurt you in the end. What's not to fear about people?

But then again, to think rationally, is it likely that I'll ever see them again? Will it hurt even more to just tell them? My chances of winning are incredibly slim. I am handicapped from the beginning. Despite all my intelligence, my greatest physical advantage-my speed-has been robbed from me; the best I could do is limp away if I don't get this injury cured in the short amount of time I have. One of those brutes from higher up will take no mercy during the bloodbath, wasting no time with slicing my neck so very slowly, staining the pure whiteness of my skin. It's a horrific thought. There's nothing I can do to prevent this though. My purity? Such a thing is always eliminated in the hunger games. Makes me wish I had gone through with my actions earlier…

"Magic? Please talk to us"

"…F-fine, I-I'll talk" I stutter as per normal.

The girls smile. Scary smiles.

"O-once y-you had left, I was still a-alone on the f-floor" I begin. So far they are following well. Good then.

"Th-that experience h-had been sh-shocking enough f-for me. I don't qu-quite think I've e-ever encountered s-someone so…so…"

"Bitchy?" Interrupts Shawvelly "Besides that Calian that is"

A pang hits my heart. Once again I want to say something but can't. No matter, I must continue with my recount.

"A-anyway I'm n-not sure just h-how l-long I was sat there f-for. S-seconds, minutes, h-hours. A-all that time, w-words and p-protests scrambled m-my brain. Everything I w-wanted to s-say to her, e-everything I sh-should have said. A-all I sh-should have u-used to d-defend my-myself with"

I feel the stuttering increase with the emotion. It's unavoidable but necessary if I am to finish. After all, any dramatic piece is not without the emotion evident within the voice. That is one thing I remember from studying dramatic pieces in class, whilst others just scribbled incessantly on their scripts. It will be nice to get away from all those idiots. Anyway, to continue with the story.

"I had r-realised how p-painful it is to n-never be a-able to d-defend myself. I c-could never b-belong in a w-world where, w-with a-all I have to say, I-I can n-never show anyone nor d-demonstrate it. I w-will a-always b-be overlooked, u-undermined and u-uncared for"

Chantelle flashes a sympathetic (though not empathetic I take notice) look. Shawvelly for some reason tries to give me yet another hug though my instant recoil stops her in her tracks. There are a few tears staining my cheeks again but I don't let her help. I want her to know how hurtful human emotion can be.

"It was th-then I had gotten m-myself up. I-I closed the shop early a-and l-left for home. No, n-not just left-ran. I ran home. Ran f-fast as I could. I-I just w-wanted comfort. Safety. Warmth"

I chuckle weakly.

"I-I still d-didn't receive it th-there. M-mother and f-father were still i-in bed. W-worse still they h-hadn't e-even touched th-their lunch I-I had made e-earlier th-that day. Wh-when I-I came to c-collect it m-my father sc-screamed weakly at m-me f-for lord o-only knows h-how long. M-mother sat there a-and w-watched w-without a s-single c-care or word"

I take a deep, painful breath. This next part will be the hardest.

"That's when I gave up"

I didn't even stutter at all there. Maybe that was the easiest sentence I have ever needed to admit instead. That's quite an achievement for me. How curious indeed.

"What do you mean by 'gave up'? Magic? What-"

Islera starts asking with a serious undertone but somehow she stops mid-sentence. She's looking at my sleeve. Oh dear; she must have noticed. Looks like purity is a harder thing to use to mask over than I had previously believed. I decide it is best to quell their confusion. Again I give up and reach for my sleeve. Hands trembling violently, I never meet their gaze as I pull up the sleeve to reach my elbow. I hear no sounds; maybe they're too shocked to see such a horrific scar on such pure white skin.

"I gave up…o-on life. A-after the f-fiasco with m-my father I-I somehow d-dragged myself t-to the b-bathroom to w-wash away the t-tears. I r-ran cold water and splashed th-that on my f-face…b-but when I l-looked into the m-mirror…I saw o-only a broken m-man. I saw…a gh-ghost, a gh-ghost of the r-real me. I couldn't st-stand it"

I stroke the scar.

"The r-razor was right th-there. It…it was t-too easy….just t-too easy. Of c-course it still h-hurt, the sharp, slow pain…b-but I t-tried to p-pretend it w-wasn't me. I t-tried to pretend…it was a-all of th-them. Th-that girl and her poisonous charm…L-Lucan the b-bully…C-Calian and her rejection…but it was st-still pretty, the red, the lovely r-red, red on wh-white"

I stop there because without warning the peacekeeper re-enters the room with a rather too loud slam of the door. All the girls immediately turn to stare at him, like distracted animals.

"OI! Time's up so you brats get outta, your time's already overrun" he spits at us.

Chantelle and Islera comply with his command easily, flashing me a couple of sad looks as they leave, making me feel more at ease as they move further away. Shawvelly on the other hand stands firm.

"I'm not leaving" she plainly states.

I wish she wasn't so stubborn.

"J-just leave"

She looks shocked. Perfect. The peacekeeper takes advantage of this and grabs her by the arms forcefully. She doesn't know how to react as he drags her out.

But just as they reach the door she says just one thing. Something soft and broken which is so unlike her.

"Please…don't you remember the reaping?"

The reaping…that's the final thing I need to remember.

* * *

Now I'm alone and in peace I can finalise the events of today in my memory.

One thing crosses my mind instantly. It was stormy. Very stormy, which explains the thunder from outside the room earlier. I hate thunder. But there we all were anyway. Every single teenager of district eight was gathered under the blackened and angered clouds gathered in the sky to personify everyone's thoughts. Every peacekeeper and capitol person here however had not seemed to quite notice that. Looking at my current outfit however I must have deliberately this so to suit the rain; it's thick, warm and comfortable yet doesn't ruin in rain and is quite fashionable. Perfect for such an occasion and one of my best works if I do say so myself.

I must stop going off track. I must finish this memory quickly before we are carted away. Myself and whoever my district partner happens to be. Anyway, it was stormy though with all our bad luck we were stood under no roof. Every teen was stood huddled and soaking amongst their sections. Not me however for if I'm right I had chosen a space stood just a little away from the other boys my age though I was fine thanks to my outfit. It didn't help that I stood out like a sore thumb amongst though, which caused them to push me away.

I happen to be the tallest teen in the district, so I tower over everyone else but they don't look up to me in a good way. My hair is a beautiful striking shade of dark red (not ginger), my skin is rather pale and pure, my eyes an unusual shade of teal and I happen to be quite skinny and feminine. Girls think I look cute. Boys think I look completely gay. It's as simple as that really.

After arriving and finding a place…then…then I remember it was all silent. Why? I think it was due to the fact that for some strange reason our escort had not currently arrived. The mayor was stood on stage with an avox in utter confusion, along with the rest of us. Something in my instincts suggested that his entrance was not going to be in normal circumstances.

Then…I remember a faint roar. Some sort of faint roar like a machine. It was a little like when my sewing machine went out of control. Even now I feel that couldn't have been good.

Oh yes. Now I remember well. That's right. The faint mechanical roar had gotten louder…louder…until a massive crash had gotten us all to sharply turn towards the gate and to everyone's surprise, except the avox, a black clad frightening person stormed in on what looked like a motorcycle. He had torn straight through the crowd of us, knocking a couple of young kids to the side and he rode up towards the stage and halted just inches in front of the mayor's feet.

To say everyone was in shock and awe by that point is an understatement. The man had removed the skull and cross-bone helmet to reveal his full image. Dear god he was terrifying; his scary face still haunts the back of my mind. He was tall and I mean extremely tall, much like myself really so I felt slightly less conspicuous. He had jet black hair, spiked in such a way it looked like you could impale yourself on it. A glorious golden gleam lined his skin; it was such a shade I desired to achieve for a dress colour one day. I remember thinking at the time if I made it out of there alive I could try to achieve that colour one day. Too late for that now. Anyway, his last defining feature was the massive skull tattoo adorned on his left cheek. A grim reminder of death.

But…trying to remember from there is becoming more difficult. My brain is still trying too hard. Maybe I'll just lie down and close my eyes for a moment; try to get some peace and let the memory play by itself.

My eyelids close shut rather quickly as I lay down to rest once again. As everything fades into sleep, the memory plays out clearly in my mind.

* * *

_The leather clad man, who has now been identified by our mayor as 'Nile Roche' stomps towards the mike, grabbing it tightly within his golden fists and exclaims_

"_HELLOO DISTRICT EIGHT!"_

_Hi voice echoes throughout the area. He's met with silence and faces of un-appreciation._

"_WHO'S READY FOR THIS YEAR'S GAMES!?" He exclaims obnoxiously again, trying to rally some sort of reaction from the awaiting crowd. He's met with silence again. He doesn't seem too impressed. He furrows his brow with annoyance and huffs._

"_Alright, alright let's get on with it" he sighs, slamming the microphone back on the stand and pulls out a partially torn piece of paper. It turns out to be the treaty, which he reads with little care. No-one seems interested as he reads it out. I just block my ears and pretend not to hear him. However, that doesn't seem to help as once he finishes the reading of the treaty he begins to yell again._

_"NOW FOR AN MEGA HARDCORE BLOODY VIDEO ALL THE WAY FROM BACK HOME!"_

_This is always my least favourite part after the actual reapings. Everyone turns their faces towards the large screen to the left of Nile. Instantly, it begins explaining the games, with some horrific past images of which I turn away. But then when I thought that was the worst of it…then they start playing images from last year's games. They show many deaths, those horrific mutts and the final moments of last year's winner-that poor Neon girl from district 3; she was only young. I just pray I don't end up like her. The whole time it plays I feel like vomiting; such images are never good for my composure. Nile however is smiling with sickening glee._

_When the video ends, there is tense silence. Nile says nothing at first but instead just stamps over towards the girl's reaping bowl. His golden hand slams into the bowl and quickly fishes out a small piece of paper. It's only them he starts to yell again (I swear if I listen to him any longer I will go deaf)._

_"AND FOR DISTRICT EIGHT'S SUPER HARDCORE FEMALE TRIBUTE, WE HAVE DAKOTA PHILLIPS!"_

_Phillips…why does that sound so familiar? Like everyone else I glance around to try and figure out who this girl is. There is a slight gasp over in the older girl's section and everyone disperses around one girl. From where I'm standing she seems to have fainted. Nile seems to be tapping his foot impatiently as he waits, so the peacekeepers gather around her and pick her up from the ground. As she is dragged towards the stage, I try to take a glance at her first but I don't until she reaches the stage. As she's dragged many girls give her piercing, hating glances though many of the boys are whistling and shouting cat calls at her. Shawvelly glances over at me, looking like she's sniggering as if to say 'can't believe it was that bitch'. I chuckle a little too which earns a rare warm smile from her. Once Dakota is placed on the stage besides Nile he shifts an inch away from her, giving her a disdainful look (maybe fainting isn't 'hardcore' enough for him). Her eyes then slowly seem to open._

_Oh my…it's her. It's that girl from my shop. I hate to sound rather vicious in my own mind but I feel no remorse for her. But Phillips?_

_Wait…now way she can't be…she can't be related to her…_

_It doesn't matter anyway. I get no more time to dwell upon this as Nile stamps over towards the boy's reaping bowl. This is the ultimate tension for myself and all the other's my age. If we make it through this, we live._

_His hand fishes out a name._

_He gets ready to speak._

_My heart stops._

_"As for our SUPER (with much emphasis on the 'super') hardcore boy tribute, we have Magic Ayerzuela!"_

…

_No. It can't be._

_I-_

_No-_

_Why me? I was nearly there! So very nearly there! But on day that has played out like this who am I to be surprised-fate seems to move in mysterious ways. Though it makes me wish I had continued with my earlier self-harm actions; at least then I could die with my purity intact._

_The peacekeepers are getting closer and closer. Soon they'll encircle me and I won't be able to escape. But…I don't want to pay this price. I don't want to be district eight's hero. Even though running would be useless and it is surrender is the stronger feeling I just cannot accept that. No, surrender cannot be stronger._

_So I make my decision._

_I run._

_Everyone's a little surprised, even Nile, but I run faster and further than I ever had. The peacekeepers are barely keeping up with me and the gate draws closer in sight. If I keep this up i can escape. I can make it._

_I can live._

_I'm nearly there, just a hand away. My fingers reach out, extend and so very nearly touch the smooth metal-_

_I fall to the ground clutching at my ankle. A pain rushes through every single vein in my body. I don't even scream but I groan and hiss loudly, tears flowing like waterfalls from my ears. Through the blurred vision I can see a bullet wound in my ankle._

_They've shot me. But surely they cannot kill their tributes? No, wait that's why they shot my ankle. It's just enough to subdue me. All I see is white for a while though my vision is restored soon enough as my find myself on stage, on the opposite side on Nile from Dakota. Our escort looks extremely unimpressed by the both of us but yet he seems to keep up his loud but confident demeanour._

_"THERE WE ARE! TWO HARDCORE TRIBUTES THAT WILL REPRESENT DISTRICT EIGHT THIS YEAR! DAKOTA AND MAGIC!" _

_He takes a bow then yells "NOW SHOVE OFF!"_

_Everyone scarpers off very quickly like rats. Nile then mutters something along the lines of 'get inside quickly' before striding into the building himself. I'm still unable to move but the peacekeepers drag me along. I only look at them. They're pure white._

_Maybe surrender is just stronger. Just before my vision turns white again, I look back at the crowd. Shawvelly is still standing there._

_Even worse, she's crying._

* * *

_I wonder why I'm still running when I know there's no escaping_

_Come undone, surrender is stronger,_

_I don't need to be the hero tonight._

_We all want love, we all want honour_

_Nobody wants to pay the asking price._

_~Undone by FFH~_


	9. District Nine Reapings

**A/N-** Hope you like District Nine! Nearly at the end now :D

* * *

**Pippa Rosalin, District Nine Female**

_**ActressAssassin2010**_

* * *

"Get up, Pippa." Mel demands harshly, ripping my duvet from my body. Cold air floods around me, pricking at me with sharp, pointy stabs of bitterness, and I groan, curling up into a tight ball. The frosty air intrudes onto my warm skin, past the now non existent duvet, sending goose bumps up my arms. I wrap my arms firmly over my knees and my teeth begin to chatter. I shiver, but squeeze my eyes shut, hoping they'll just let me be late for work.

"Yeah, get up, PipPip." Kiara sneers. I feel the reduction in temperature before it hits me. Freezing water cascades over my head and body, plunging me into a frenzy of desperate struggle for breath as Kiara tips the remains from the bucket of ice water over me sadistically. My eyes flick open in shock, and I gasp loudly. The two laugh haughtily as I stand up, dripping with the icy water. My night clothes cling desperately to my soaking skin, sticking fast. I force my eyes up to my taller, tougher older sisters. Mel stands in the corner, hands on her waist, holding onto her middle tightly as she flings her head of perfect blonde curls and laughs at the sigh of me. Kiara, nineteen now and free from the hunger games, stands in front of me with her lips turning up into a cruel smirk.

"Good to see you up, PipPip." Her smirk turns to a fake, broad grin as she glances at me from toes to head. "Oh, did little PipPip wet her bed?" she gasps, turning her mouth to an 'o' and switching to a little girls voice "Ooh, what is mummy going to say about this?"

I stand there, quivering in my clothes as they plaster to my skin. Half of the quiver is from the coolness, the other from rage. How can I let them just walk all over me every single day of my life? My blood bubbles and merges into a flame, licking up my insides until I'm ready to hit Kiara in the face. I unknowingly flex my hand, tucking my fingers under and into a neat fist. Then I feel myself raising it. All of my body urges me to do it; strike her hard, right on her perfect nose. Then who would be laughing? Kiara's eyes flicker, seeing my hand ready to strike and she grins, and her eyes change in an instant. They dance with glee, daring me to do it, to punch her in the face.

"Do it, PipPip, you know you want to." The words come from her pink, pouting lips. I glare into her icy eyes, feeling my mouth switch into a snarl.

"Come on, coward. Punch me. How much trouble have we put you through in your life PipPip? Wouldn't you like to go one up on us, for a change? Put us in our place? Make Frank and Benny proud?" she chuckles drawing a nail and giving me a scratch from my eye down to my chin, and Mel's laughter catches in her throat before fading nervously as she sees the current predicament.

* * *

_"Right, now little PipPip…" Kiara and Mel say, looking down on me, their evil eyes flaring with spite. Their huge twelve and fifteen year old statures cast shadows over my small body, as I cower away, trying to find a way out. _

_"My name isn't PipPip." I say, tears running down my face. The corner of the room seems to swallow me up, as they step closer, pressing me up, leaving me trapped. _

_"It is now, mummy's girl." Kiara says softly, malice coating her words. _

_"I'm not a mummy's girl." I protest, my lispy voice so quiet in the room I doubt they hear me. _

_"Yes you are. We heard you telling her how we shoved you into the tall grain the other day and how you got lost." Mel says, glaring at me. _

_"Shame you didn't get stuck in it forever." Kiara nods with Mel. My mouth falls open in devastation and my eyebrows rise in shock. _

_"You really don't want me?" I ask, lip trembling. _

_"No." The both say. "We want you to die. You're a waste of space." Their voices haunt my ears, harsh and ominous. _

_"No you don't." I say, more of a question than a statement. _

_"We do, and we hate you so much. All you ever do is suck up to mummy when you're a complete baby and tell tails or run to Frank and Benny because you think they'll help you." _

_"They do help me!" I protest. "They say they're going to teach me how to fight when I'm older so I can protect myself." I wipe messily at the tears falling miserably down my cheeks. They laugh and scoff at me, punching me in the arm and watching me flinch. "As if." Mel says._

_"You'll never be able to fight. Imagine if you get picked for the hunger games, you'll be dead in seconds!" Kiara agrees, grinning. _

_"No I won't!" I stamp my foot._

_"Will too." Kiara smirks._

_"Will not."_

_"Will too." _

_"Well when I know how to fight I'll show you. I'll knock you right on the nose and make you bleed. Then who'll be laughing?" I say pointedly and they giggle._

_"Nah." Kiara says dismissively. "You're all talk." _

_"No I'm not, and when I'm older I'll prove it to you!" My lips pout, but the tears stop. _

_"Well I'd like to see you try. You won't dare because then we'll tell mum on you and then guess who won't be mummy's little girl anymore." Kiara smiles deviously. "You don't mess with us Pippa, and we won't mess with you. Just keep doing as we tell you. And stay away from the twins, they're manipulating you into a fighting machine just because they hate us and they're too scared to fight us themselves." _

_"But Frank and Benny love me. They say I'm their little angle." I protest weakly._

_"Oh, is that right? Well, what if I told you they hate you too, and they want you to die in the Hunger Games, you piece of dirt."_

_"No, they love me, they said-"_

_"People lie, PipPip. Now go and do my chores." Kiara demands. I stand stubbornly, disobeying my older brothers' orders to just get on with it quietly, and that I will have my revenge later in life. _

_"Now, PipPip!" Kiara growls. _

_"No." I say. The next thing I know is her razor sharp nails are raking down my body, puncturing my skin down my neck and following down onto my arms. I feel them, digging into my skin, wriggling around, forcing the cut deeper, and then continuing their trek downwards. _

_"Let me go!" I struggle in vain to release myself from her firm hold on my shoulder. "Not until you understand." Kiara glares at me, her dark eyes sparking with glee. "Fetch the salt, Mel." She orders in a monotone voice. Mel sniggers and runs off. _

_"Why do you need salt?" I ask, frowning, rubbing away the traces of tears._

_"Oh, you'll know soon enough." She tugs her nails from my flesh and watches the bright blood trail down my arm, making plaits and weaving in and out of each other. I wince at the sight, and try to dismiss the pain. Mel bounds excitedly back into the room clutching at the small pot. Kiara takes the pot and pops off the lid. "Now, come here, PipPip." She says sternly. When I don't budge she grabs my bloody arm and squeezes hard. Blood gushes and I scream, only stopping when Mel's hand clamps over my mouth. My arm feels like it's going to fall off, and I almost faint at the sight of the pooling blood on the floor. Kiara pushes my long, damp scraggly blonde hair off my arm, allowing her clear access to my wounds. She dips her clean fingers into the pot and pulls them out, coating them with salt. I struggle in her grasp as the salty hand nears my wound. _

_"Calm down, PipPip. It's not going to hurt." Kiara says, quickly smothering the salt over my gaping skin. A sheer, ear piercing scram escapes my lips as my body begins to shake violently. _

_"What's happening?" I ask, eyes stinging with tears. The two laugh in response, and smooth some more onto my wounds. "Get off me!" I cry, lashes out with my able arm. I catch Kiara's cheek with my flailing fingers, scratching a shallow gash into her skin. She growls, a rather inhuman sound, and I lurch backwards, catching myself on the bed post and tripping onto the floor. My head hits the floor and I feel something crack in my spine. Kiara's face looms above me, a drop of blood falls from her face, landing centre on my forehead. My word suddenly blurs, and the scent of the clean laundry, blood and Kiara's perfume merge into one, and the colours of Kiara's grinning face fade to black. _

* * *

"Frank and Ben helped me." I say, standing up tall. This would not be another weak act like when I was seven and all the times after that. I flick back my light pink fringe dismissively, clearing my eye sight of the damp hair quickly turning into rat tails. "And I will not disappoint them. They told me, you know, about when you were all younger. How you two ganged up on them even though they were older and they couldn't fight back because you are girls? And they told me how you always went crying for mum out of spite to get them in trouble even though they never laid a hand on you."

"As if they taught you how to fight. Those two wimps can't punch to save their lives." Kiara snorts, looking down on me.

"Well, it's not the first thing you've been wrong about." I glare, bringing up my fists. Kiara just raises her eyebrows.

"You gonna punch her, Pip?" Mel eyes me. "You know you could just carry on with our jobs and no long lasting violence has to be used." She inspects her nail. "It's up to you."

"Yeah, well maybe I'm fed up with you walking over me the whole time!"

"We can't help that you're weak."

"I am not weak." I say, forcing my fist into Kiara's face, square on her little perfect nose. I feel a bone crack under my knuckles. Kiara screams and falls backwards. Mel is lost for words. I draw back my fist, covered in blood. _Did I really just do that? _

"Why, you little!" Kiara mindlessly wipes her dripping nose on her shirt, and springs to her feet. Her nails scrape down the sides of my face, but I manage to knee her in the stomach and spring backwards. A small 'oof' sound escapes her from her mouth, which swiftly fills with her own blood. She spits and glares ferociously before charging at me. I dodge and stick my leg out, tripping her and sending her flying, face first, into the wall. Without wasting time, she forces herself back up, shoots me a death look, and walks out of the room, breathing heavily. I look to Mel, who in turn shrugs, and follows Kiara.

I fall backwards onto my soaking bed and give my hair a squeeze. I go to brush out my hair, but stop at the sound of the pair laughing. Running into the first floor living room, I see them ripping my canvases from the easel and holding them up, showing me. I freeze and watch them carefully. If I make any violent move on them then my paintings will go out the open window. Kiara holds one of my favourites, an oil painting of a sunset I have yet to finish. It's taken me a year. The young, light colours of oranges and yellows look so pail and frail on the thin canvas, one of my works I may never get to finish now. Mel holds one of my finished pieces, torn from the wall. A family portrait. I remember painting, not too long ago, with the stolen paints and dyes from the market shop. She grips a paintbrush coated in black paint in her hand.

"You wouldn't." I said. Kiara and Mel look at me.

"You really think that?"

"No, not really." I shrug, simply getting into a fighting stance. Mel, on instruction from Kiara, paints over my face in the family portrait, covering my face in a layer of thick, black paint. I stand, agape. I feel my face crinkle up, the recognisable feeling of rage starting to boil back up again. Suddenly, I hear heavy footsteps that stop outside the door. I put them easily to Frank, with his odd long stride and heavy footing.

"Frank!" I call, moving out of the way as he opens the door. His eyes flick quickly, taking in the scene, instantly knowing what's happened. In no time he tackles Kiara to the floor, producing a loud thump. In seconds my parents arrive at the door, watching Frank trying to stab at Kiara rolling about underneath him with a paintbrush. If there wasn't blood everywhere, the scene would be rather comical. She screams when she notices mum and dad standing there. "Help me! They just started attacking me for no reason!"

Dad is upon Frank in an instant. Kiara has always been his favourite.

"Get off her, Frank! Right this instant!" He shouts, yanking him back by the collar of his shirt. Kiara cries crocodile tears as she hugs dad close to her, smiling at me over his shoulder and out of his view. Mum looks at me in disbelief, and walks over.

"You have to believe me mum; they've been bullying Pippa ever since she was a child." Frank says. "Benny knows too. You need to get Kiara and Mel away from Pippa. Do you know how horrible her childhood has been?"

"You hit me first!" Kiara shouts.

"For the first time ever. How many times have you cut or hit her in the past? How many times have you tried to kill her and then attack me and Benny, swearing us to secrecy?" Frank asks, tears glistening in his eyes as he rolls up his long sleeves. "Look." He insists mum looks at his arm, and true to his words, ragged scars line his skin, with some fresh ones, still scabbing over.

"Is this true, Kiara?" dad pushes her away.

"No!" she says, determinedly. "Of course it isn't! I love Pippa, and she's such a lovely person, I don't know why she turned on me all of a sudden."

"Oh shut up, Kiara!" I spit back, rising from the floor and away from Frank's caring arms. "You started this, all these years ago in the grain fields. I did everything you ever asked of me. I let you walk all over me. And you know what? Now I'm fed up with it!" I jab her again in the jaw, and she slashes back, catching my cheekbone. Nails jutting out, she continues her assault, clawing at me continuously, only stopping when dad pulls her back.

"See what I mean! She's crazy!" Kiara smirks.

"I think you're the one who's crazy," I say, dabbing a cloth to the scratches. I feel my head throbbing, and everything hazes over for a second. "I think Pippa and Frank are right. I'm so sorry for not noticing, sweetheart." Mum hugs me to her, and I embrace the warmness.

"You didn't notice sooner because you don't love her." Kiara says, spite coating her words as she wipes the blood from her face again. That one remark hits home and my whole body goes cold. "We all want you dead, PipPip. Why not go and volunteer for the games and go and die? It would make our lives so much better."

"And why don't you just kill me now then?" I shout right back.

"Because I want to see you suffer." Her hiss is hostile. Both of my parents edge backwards at the sound of it coming from her own lips, and Kiara lets her mouth fall open, realising what she's just done. Dad grabs her hands and secures them behind her back. Mum goes to grab my arm, but I shake her off. Kiara has a point. Not once did they notice anything was wrong.

"See, I'm right aren't I, PipPip?" she asks. I shake my head in disbelief, getting free of my mum and stalking out of the door, slamming it behind me. Snatching up my work clothes, I pull them on roughly, and run out of the house door onto the dusty path.

* * *

The sun beating down through the clear, cloudless sky hits my face and warms my lightly tan skin. I never stop sprinting, and don't look up as I cross the square where the reaping is being set up for in a few hours. My eyes stay on the cobble floor, which I notice has tiny cracks with grass seeping up through it. I smile at the tufts, amazed they could live and re-grow up through the tiniest of gaps. My temper seems so sink back down inside of me and returns into hibernation as the cool breeze washes over me and soothes my face.

I feel a drop roll down the side of my cheek, but it's warm, and I gently touch my hand to my face. The tear slips onto my fingers, and I focus on the crystal clear drop glimmering and glistening in the light, sending off tiny rainbows that reflect inside of the bubble of liquid. It plops onto the dry cobble, seeping onto the grass. I dry my rather delayed tears as I approach my allotted field. Reaching the gate in little time, I gradually see a figure waiting for me. His tall, slim figure is propping up against the fence as I arrive, and his eyes still glimmer their startling silver flecked eyes.

"Alright, Pink?" his deep, comforting voice meets my ears as the figure turns to meet me. He pushes off the gate and walks to greet me. His arms open wide, and as I approach, I don't hesitate to step into them.

"Not particularly." I mumble into his chest whilst he rests his chin on my head. "I snapped." I sigh, embracing the warmth radiating from his body.

"Oh." He says, hesitantly, and he frowns. "Did it get that bad?" he steps away and we sink down onto the dry dirt path. Work can wait. I nod. "Forget keeping my thoughts to myself and channelling the anger into something else, I just went out and started fighting with her." I sigh, and rest against the fence.

"It's not your fault." He looks at me carefully. "You were provoked, yeah?"

"Yes." I say glumly. "But you should've seen my parent's faces, Dylan. They were so disappointed, like they couldn't believe I'd finally snapped. All those years of trying to be invisible, all wasted." I on purposely leave the bit out about my parents not loving me, wanting to forget it altogether.

Dylan's glittering eyes gradually fade to a dull grey rather then an eye catching silver. "Well, let's hope karma exists. Then they'll get what's coming for them."

"I think they already did. My punches were pretty good. And Frank came to back me up."

"Really?" Dylan chuckles. "How good?"

"I caught her bang on the nose with a right jab." I allow a small smirk to cross my face. "Her reaction was amazing. Like she couldn't believe I had done it."

"It must've felt amazing." He throws his arm over my shoulder and we lean on each other for a second.

"It was, until she told me to go and die and she wanted me to suffer in the Games." I murmur, frowning. "I mean I knew Kiara doesn't like me but seriously that shocked me. And then she and Mel ruined my paintings."

"Maybe it was just heat of the moment stuff?" He suggests, trying to see the right in everyone.

"I doubt it." I murmur before letting out a huge sigh. "Let's get on with our work. Then we can head into town before the reaping; I could do with some new paints."

"Sounds good." Dylan smiles friendlily, grasping my hands and helping me to my feet. He tucks a strand of my light pink hair behind my ear with his soft, comforting hands. Then he taps the underside on my chin gently with his fingers. "Chin up, Pink. It'll work out soon, don't you worry. Ben and Frank will be looking out for you still."

"Yeah, I hope so. I'm just fed up of them walking all over me." I say. "I'm scared to go back home." I say after a long pause.

"That's to be expected. However, you need to think logically about this, Pip. You have Ben and Frank on your side, and evidence they are ruining your life. You've also got the evidence of the paintings been sabotaged."

"But does that really mean anything? My parents can't exactly do anything, can they?" I raise my eyebrows and stare helplessly at the ground. I kick at the dust path with my feet, light particles fly into a whirlwind, creating a mini tornado before losing energy and sinking back to the ground.

"I suppose you're right." Dylan sighs and scratches his chin absent mindedly.

"It's okay, you don't need to think of anything." I smile, putting on my brave face. "I'll fight through it, like I've done the last billion times. The only difference is my family know now." And with that, we head off to the shed and grip our scythes firmly in our hands and begin our two hour shift before the reaping.

* * *

Finally, after what seems to be an eternity, we are relieved of our post in the fields, and swiftly return to the main path and head back to the village. When we arrive at the stalls set up outside the family run shops in the town, it feels like a normal, sunny summer day in District Nine. The bright, eye catching stalls hold many goods. Some rich stall owners sport goods imported from the Capitol, whilst other, poor owners have just dull scraps and home made, unidentifiable objects littering the stall tops. My hazel eyes gleam in the light, and I feel the sun reflecting off my face. A grin covers my face as my eyes clamp onto the one stall that catches my interest. The paints. Dylan is next to me the whole time, and we melt into the crowd, my tall stature and distinctive pink hair doesn't make it easy but soon we lose ourselves in the bustling crowd and we worm our way through to the stall I never let my eyes leave. "We'll wait for Kashim, like usual." I perch onto tip toes and whisper into Dylan's ear.

Dylan and I arrive at the stall adjacent to the paints, which is owned by a small, frail woman of around seventy with the most gorgeous blue eyes I've ever seen. She's known well around the village, and hands me a glass of her cow's milk that I sip at whilst waiting for our third member. I pass her some coins worth little, but she pushes them away, forcing them back into my pocket and gives me a charming grin. It's her reaping gift to me.

In no time at all, my friend I've known forever arrives, running his hands nervously through his golden, sun colour hair. His glinting eyes shimmer in the light, blatantly reflecting the nerves.

"Hi guys." Kashim greets us with a bland smile.

"Hey Kash." Dylan grins back.

"I don't think… I'm nervous, Pippa." Kashim speaks, and twiddles his thumbs.

_Yes, like that's anything new. _

"What are those scratches on your face Pippa?" He asks gently, bringing his hand up to my face. When I jerk backwards instinctively, a sad look cloaks his face.

"I was just-"

"Pink's a bit more sensitive today, okay Kash? I'm sure she'll open up to you in a few days, we just need her to go back to normal and calm down." Dylan says dismissively. He knows I don't talk to anyone about it except Ben and Frank.

"Hey! I am calm." I object, shoving Dylan playfully. "And it is back to normal, I'll just carry on trying to be invisible. Now, can we please get my paints? The rich man need distracting, so Kash, that's you. Go fetch your bike."

* * *

In no time at all we're set up, Kashim browsing the stalls whilst Dylan and I lurk in the crowds like sharks, waiting to attack. This isn't out of the ordinary for us. How do you think I can afford all those paints? We only ever steal from the rich people who are stuck up and don't appreciate anything.

Kashim looks to his watch, a shocked look cloaks his face and he urgently bids goodbye to the stall owner, and mounts the bike, pedalling straight into the paint stall. We approach in a run. "Kash! What did you do that for?" I ask harshly, hiding my giggles as I watch the man's reaction. "You help this man clean up right away!" I look to the stall owner red with fury, with balled fists that look eager to take us out. Dylan and I join Kashim on the floor and help clean up, subtly hiding paints and brushes in our clothes pockets. _How does Kashim not get a rush from this? _

"I apologise for his stupid behaviour. It won't happen again." Dylan says hurriedly, noticing a small crowd beginning to form. "Let's go." I hiss, and we run off, clutching at our pockets.

We reach Dylan's house and pile the goods into his bag which he hides in his cupboard. His mum offers us some lunch, which we gratefully accept and we sit at the table with her husband and Dylan's younger brother. Dylan's family are fairly wealthy, and I eat a healthy dinner at theirs twice a week on days particularly bad between my sisters and I. I'm not entirely certain what the thick, pale yellow mush we're eating is, but it tastes starchy, and the small side dish is a slice of bread, which I eagerly shove into my mouth with the rest of the food. Despite the wonderful tasting food, a complete contrast to the boring always the same food I have at home, I cannot dismiss the feeling of sickness. My eyes flick to the clock. We have a three quarters of an hours before the reaping. I push back my bowl, thank Dylan's parents and bid my goodbyes to Dylan and Kash.

"I'll see you before the reaping, Pink." Dylan nods.

I walk through the town, watching all the stalls being packed up and shop doors shutting before the reaping. I avoid the square where it's held altogether, and slip silently through the streets, practicing my invisibility act. The door of the house creeks as I push it open, and I wince at the sound. However, unlike usually Kiara and Mel don't run to meet me and begin the spiteful words. This time Ben and Frank greet me with a tight hug.

"You did good earlier today, Pippa." Frank says.

"Sorry I couldn't be there to help." Says Ben.

"Mum and Dad are watching carefully. Though I'd keep an eye out; Kiara is determined to get revenge on you for changing Dad's perspective of her being an angelic, perfect daughter to a spiteful brat."

"Thanks for the heads up, Frank." I smile gratefully and head up to my room.

Across the room, Kiara sits on her bed, and shoots me a death glare as I walk in. She gets up to meet me, but our Dad stands, and only needs to look at Kiara before she shrinks back down. "Kiara." His deep voice echoes in the room. "Don't you have something t say to Pippa?"

"I'm sorry, PipPip." She spits, snarling at me. "Though I still want you to volunteer for the games. And if you don't I'll make your life hell as soon as he turns his back." She narrows her eyes at Dad. "So, what do you say, PipPip? You have thirty minutes to make your decision."

"Kiara stop this right now!" Dad orders.

"You can't make my life more hell than you already do."

"Pippa, it can't be that bad." Dad says, trying to keep himself from taking sides.

"Oh yeah, really? Well put yourself in my shoes!" I shout, and I lift my t-shirt up, exposing my flat stomach to him. His eyes widen and mouth drops as he takes in the long, jagged scars that once were Kiara tearing through my flesh. Kiara smirks.

"Fun times, eh, PipPip?"

That familiar feeling of anger begins to boil. I restrain my self from lashing out, and walk out the room clutching my reaping clothes.

After washing and pulling on my uncomfortable reaping clothes that consist of a disgusting yellow summer dress which is way too itchy and a pair of too tight white sandals, I brave up and step into my painting room. The scraps of torn canvas have gone from the floor, the paint clean from the walls and the brushes away neatly in their pots. However, the family canvas still sits in the corner of the room, the black splodge coating my face. I feel my heart sink and the sickness returns. Before I could begin retching, I run to the bathroom and lock the door, before spilling my troubles into the sink. _My family really don't care about me, so they? Would they even notice if I were gone? Maybe I could go and live with Dylan as his lovely family._

I wash out my mouth and the sink. Then I pass the front living room, giving my dad and mum, who have now moved downstairs, a light hug. I progress to the door with Benedict and Frank, who then walk to the square with me. I assume Mel has already left for the reaping. Kiara smiles evilly at me from the sofa. "Five minutes, PipPip." I shut the door.

* * *

The road seems to stretch on forever as we rush to the reaping. The loud announcement of the Capitol escort booms out, working its way through the tiny streets to every house, informing everyone the yearly even is about to commence once again. The loss of two children from the district has an affect on everyone in this area Nine. Everyone knows everyone where I live. We mourn the loss of our friend's children, but are secretly thanking that it was not one of us instead. The haunting, low voice of Robinetro Flaxine draws us to run to get to the square in time. Ben and Frank give me a quick hug and good luck as I slip in with the late comers. Peacekeepers glare at us in their pristine white uniforms. Most of the children I shuffle in with cower back from their fierce persona, but I don't bother. Their glares are nothing compared to the scorchers Kiara's given me over the years, and the batons in their hands look less painful than Kiara's punches and sharp nails. A tap on my shoulder brings me to attention, and my heart jumps. Have I just been reaped? I turn quickly, and my breathing slows as Dylan smiles at me.

"Calm down, Pink, it's just me." He chuckles quietly as we creep to our sections. Dylan should be forward a few, being a few years older than me. But we stand next to each other, just the rope separating us.

"How was home?" he asks.

"Could have been better." I raise my eyebrows, just wanting to shake it off.

"Come here." Dylan says softly. He pulls me into a hug as Robinetro announces the female name. "Oh my god." Dylan murmurs. I stiffen in Dylan's arms and he holds me tight.

"Help me." I whisper. He shakes his head.

"I'm so sorry."

"Help me." I shiver, and my eyes begin to sting.

"I can't, Pink, I'm sorry." He squeezes me before letting go, giving me a light push. His voice quivers and I don't need to look to know there's tears forming in his silver eyes. "Be strong. Don't let them see your weakness. I'll see you in a minute, Pink. Keep strong."

My eyes lift up as I step out, eying the terrifying looking Robinetro standing on the stage, looking down at me. His pale pink eyes are beckoning me to my death. I begin me accent up the stage steps. It seems even longer than the road to get here. Somewhere from the back of the square, I hear a distinctive chuckle. I jut my chin out and look out across the sea of children blinking away the tears I find Mel, and plead for her to volunteer. She shakes her head sadly, and her gaze falls to the floor. Kiara is who I focus on next, standing next to dad laughing with her head tipping back. A viscious grin flashes at me, and through all the fear of my childhood, the games don't seem incredibly scary. I'm free from Kiara, and I'm not going to waste that little time now before my death. All those times I'd wished I could go and be away from her are uncountable. Finally I get my wish, but I realise it's not what I want.

A boy, Dylan's age maybe, joins me on the stage. There's no volunteers when Robinetro asks, and I hesitantly shake hands with short and weak looking boy next to me. His dark eyes glimmer with sadness and is it depression? His childhood can't have been any better than mine and I give him a small smile of hope. Maybe I can help him and he can help me.

* * *

The room is small. I sit with my back straight against the sofa back. My parents sit with Kiara and Mel. Kiara still wears a smirk.

"You've always wanted to get away, PipPip. Looks like you've got your wish."

"Kiara!" Mum glares at her. "I'm sorry sweetheart." She pulls me into a hug and she rubs my back. I refuse to let the tears fall. I step out of her reach, and sit back down.

"Pippa, darling, you can do it, I believe in you." Dad looks at me. His dark eyes reflect nothing but lies and he nervously clicks his fingers.

"Thanks, Dad." I say flatly. Kiara was right. My parents don't care. My eyelids droop over my eye and a tear slides down my cheek. _They don't even want me anyway. _

"Aw, come on darling, don't." Mel works her way to me and puts her arm over my shoulder and leans into me. "I'm sorry I didn't volunteer when I should have. I'm sorry for everything I ever did to you." She hugs me and I hug back. I forgive her, and see over the years she only followed Kiara in fear of being picked on herself.

"You're a smart girl, you can do this." She says softly. "I don't know what you're physically capable of, but after this morning I know you can take a punch and throw it back ten times harder. You come back home safe, okay? I know you might not want to after everything Kiara's done to you, but you won't have to live with us anymore, will you? You won't have to take anything from her, and you can have your own paints instead of stealing."

I smile at the fact she knows painting is such a big part of my life. "And most of all I'm sorry for painting over your face in the family portrait."

The peacekeepers open the door and lead my family out. Kiara gives me a spiteful grin, whilst my parents and Mel give me hugs and kisses. The only one who seems to understand is Mel. "Come home." She says, and a tear slips out the corner of her eye.

* * *

My next guests are pushed roughly into the room, and in no time at all I fall into their arms. Their warm bodies against mine provide comfort, but only remind me of what I'll be missing. I find I am beginning to cry.

"I don't want to go." My voice shakes.

"I don't want you to go, Pippa." Ben pulls me to him. His head of dark curls brushes with mine. I feel him plant a kiss on the top on my head.

"We don't want you to go. But you have to now, and you must be strong." Frank says, joining in on the hug.

"I'm so scared." I gulp loudly and a fresh flood of tears make their way slowly down my face, trickling into the puddle forming on the carpet. "I don't want to die."

"If you keep a clear head then you won't, Pippa." Ben reassures me.

"Just keep focused. You are going to have to kill to get home to us. It's us, Pippa. You love us, you must come home." Frank says forcefully.

"Just stay the same Pippa you've always been." Ben finishes, crying. "Please don't turn into a brutal murderer. Only kill when your life is it stake, please." He begs, his voice catching in his throat. "Please."

"I will, Ben."

"Promise me." He grips my hands tightly, looking deep into my eyes.

"I promise." I say, meaning it, but I shiver at the idea of killing someone. I can't bear the idea of having someone's blood on my hands.

"I see you don't want to, Pippa." Frank says. "Kill or be killed. Do you understand?"

I nod, the stark contrast between my twin brothers baffling me. Frank had always been the kind one, the one who could always keep calm under any situation and be there to help me out. Benedict would still be there for me, yes, but he was the 'say it like it is' person, very forthright. It seems in the incident of my name being drawn they've jumped into the others' skins.

"Your punches are coming along quite well." He smiles slightly. "Use that in the arena. Steer clear of the careers until you have a strong alliance, you hear? Don't do anything stupid and-" Franks voice begins to crack as I see a silver tear sliver down his cheek. "I can't, I'm sorry." He covers his face and walks out.

"He loves you." Benedict says, holding my two shoulders firmly and looking me deep in the eye. His eyes still brim with tears and I know it's taking him extreme effort to not begin crying again. "I know." I whisper.

"And I love you too. I know it's up to you what you do in the arena, but please don't take any unnecessary risks. And find and ally."

I mumble an unliterary response.

"You must ally with someone; I know you don't want to. Won't it make Dylan and all of us feel better if we know someone is there watching your back?"

"I guess so." I say, biting my lip and wondering what Dylan would have to say to me. After all these years he's the only one I've been able to talk to other than the twins. I suppose it's time to find out, as Ben is being pulled from the room, speaking extraordinarily fast, saying words I cannot comprehend other than he's saying that we both love me very much and stay safe. The door slams shut behind him, the loud sound sending vibrations through my body.

* * *

I slump down onto the sofa, head in my heads, exhausted. The tears keep coming as it seriously sinks in. My odds would be so incredibly bad compared to everyone else's, unless I could suddenly turn those punches into serious combat moves and my scythe into a fighting weapon. The chances are within the next few weeks I'll be in a simple, wooden coffin on my way back to Nine, most likely murdered and tortured to death by the bloodthirsty careers. My thoughts stop for a second and I backtrack. Not all careers are bloodthirsty… Not all of them are killers. They are in exactly the same position as I am- a child, forced to fight for what, entertainment? They have an advantage though, being tougher from the training centres, but after a few rough years surviving on scraps before my father got a decent job, and working with heavy work tools, surely I could have an edge over other people who haven't had that life experience of having to live on practically nothing. One thing to remember in the arena is the careers are exactly the same as me in the arena; a lost, scared child fighting for their lives or glory. They must not be overestimated or underestimated.

The familiar, friendly face of Dylan lurks in the doorway, cautious on entering. I gesture him in, and he sits down next to me in silence. He takes my hand in his and I tilt my head and lean on his shoulder. His breathing is slow and comforting as he gently strokes my hand. "I don't even know what I am supposed to do." I confess easily, seeing Dylan's trusting face. "Frank says kill everyone I can on sight. Ben says only kill when I have to. Which one do I do?"

Dylan sighs heavily. "Pippa, you've seen the Hunger Games. You need an alliance, even if it's just one person. The boy reaped with you does seem alright, if a little… Unstable." He says. "So ally him, get his trust and be able to trust him. Until you get into the top eight he is unlikely to kill you if you're allies."

"_If_ I get into the top eight." I mutter. "I'm not getting my hopes up; I haven't seen the other tributes yet. They're probably all huge and twice my size and can handle every weapon known to man."

"That doesn't matter, Pippa." Dylan says. "You must have faith, okay." He now takes both his hands in mine. His smooth skin feels wonderful as I hold his hands in mine. The silver tint of his eyes swirls as they become greyer. "Just believe. You've got through so much in your life. You can take a punch and get back up again. In the arena, never give in." He smiles slightly and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. As his hand moves away, he slips a cold item into the palm of my hand.

"You're the strongest person I know, Pippa. Come back to me." He says softly, never breaking eye contact as he leans in. He draws me into a tight hug and pulls me close. The sound of the door opening has me springing back in shock and unfortunately I see the daunting stature of a peacekeeper standing in the doorway. He gestures for Dylan to leave. Dylan hugs me again before breaking away and walking towards the door. Turning back once, he takes a last look at me. "Believe, Pippa. Come home to me." A single tears slips elegantly down his cheek as he is shuffled out of the door by the peacekeeper. The door clicks shut and I am left alone.

* * *

After a life of trying to be invisible, my life is likely to end with trying to be visible. A part of me chuckles at the irony, but most of my body is in the darkness, under the worry and fear ruling me. I'll be charismatic and open in the Capitol, and not reveal my strengths, but when it comes to the arena I'll lurk in the shadows and strike when it is least expected. I won't let Dylan, Frank or Ben down.

* * *

**Jayfish A/N- **Hey! So excited to get this started! And let me just say that this is way darker than I originally intended. WAY DARKER. Sorry 'bout that!

* * *

**Jerin Flynn, District Nine Male**

_**Jayfish**_

* * *

"_Alouette, gentille Alouette,  
Alouette, je te plumerai,  
Je te plumerai la_ _tête_,  
_Je te plumerai la tête,  
Et la tête,  
Et la tête,  
Alouette,  
Alouette."_

_-_ French Canadian children's song

* * *

Hopeless.

It isn't a feeling so much as the utter lack of one. My whole body feels leaden, and I find that it's impossible to move. I stare up at the ceiling, twitching my fingers and toes. It's all I can manage. Every fiber of my being is determined to stay down, warm amongst the blankets I've covered myself with. Safe.

There's nothing safe about this place. It might be my home, but how quickly would it take for a Peacekeeper to knock the door down? They'd do it in much less time than it would take me to hide, I'm sure. And then they'd drag me to the square, force me to my knees in front of the crowd, and put a bullet through my skull. I can imagine my blood and brains splattered all over the cobblestones.

No, reapings morning is not a good time for me.

I force myself to sit up, mechanically roll my shoulders and stretch my legs. My skin is ashen and I probably look ill. I wish I could use that as an excuse not to attend, but they'd never accept it. You go to the reapings unless you can't walk.

I slip out of bed. My bare feet are cold against the wood floor, and the air is warm against my sweat-suffused skin. It's a nice day. The irony there is overwhelming, and I almost chuckle but can't quite turn my mouth up at the corners.

I'm not sure if I want to go downstairs. The only thing waiting for me there is an atmosphere of undeniable tension. I've taken tesserae, and so has my older sister, Ree. It's quite possible that one of us will be reaped. And there will be no volunteers, not here. District Nine has never had a Victor, much less someone voluntarily putting themself through hell. At least we aren't stupid here.

You're supposed to look nice, come reaping day. I remember a small boy last year who wore the same thing he always does, threadbare shirt and tattered pants. He got whacked in the head with a gun so hard he was seeing stars for weeks. Apparently the crowd wants to see well-dressed children being carted off to doom, not insignificant rats.

I sleep naked, and I'm starting to feel awkward about roaming around without a stitch of clothing. My mother has laid out some clothes for me on my wooden end table, and I cross over and pick up the soft sweater she's left. I wear it once a year, on reaping day. It's a bit short, and my stomach peeks out from underneath the white fabric, but I don't mind. In contrast, the pants are much too big. They were my grandfather's, passed down to each male in the family for the reapings. I don't even come close to filling them out. I'm awfully skinny for 15, so skinny that my mother thinks there's something wrong with me. Maybe there is.

I pull on the outfit and try not to trip over the ends of the pants. It's difficult, but I manage to stagger to the door. Pulling it open reveals the lack of noise that I was afraid of, the deathly silence that makes me swallow hard. The length of my pants suddenly seems very inconsequential, and I slip into the communal room as quietly as a mouse.

Ree is sitting on one of the moldy chairs, weeping softly. This is her last year, and she's convinced that she's going to be chosen. No amount of reassurance can convince her otherwise. Even now, my mother and oldest sister are clustered around her, patting her back and whispering words of comfort in her ears. She just shakes her head and shifts her curtain of hair so that it covers her eyes.

Looking at her crying makes me want to cry, but my eyes remain dry. There's nothing I can say that will make this any better for her, so I sink behind the wooden chair and stay silent, rocking on my heels. My stomach growls and I wrap my arms around it to muffle the sound.

My mother finally notices me, and extends her arm to invite me into the fold. I slip in and press into the warm body of my sister. I can feel her shaking, her ribs rattling against my collarbone. I manage to find her hand and give it a squeeze. Her fingers are dead against mine, but they give a tiny twitch after a moment.

The hug has become stifling. I pull away. No one in the huddle looks up or acknowledges my departure in any way. But that's alright, I'm used to it.

Breakfast is waiting on the counter. There's a thick slice of wheat bread, still with a little heat in it. My father is nowhere to be found, but I can assume he managed to get this from the baker, with whom he is close friends. I grab it up in my hands and tear into it like a wild animal. I have a great fondness for this kind of bread.

The silent huddle behind me comes apart. "You'll be alright, Ree," says my oldest sister Sissy. "Don't worry. Look at Jerin, he might get reaped, but he doesn't care."

No, I definitely care. I just find myself weighed down by lead hopelessness in my veins, stopping the blood from flowing to my heart. I don't feel anything at all but a dull sort of resignation.

Ree looks at me. "I guess you're right," she sniffles, her voice tragic. "Poor little Jerin." She starts crying again, kneading her eyes furiously.

My mother pats her on the shoulder. "Don't worry," she says, parroting Sissy. "As soon as this is over, we'll celebrate. We'll have a feast."

My sister perks up. "A feast? Really?"

"Yes," Mother promises. "This is your last year. I want you to be happy."

I wish this was my last year. Next year it will be the same, the same fear, but with a greater chance of my being chosen. It never ends.

The women of the household have resumed their conversation in hushed tones. I am unsure of whether or not they'd appreciate my being involved. I have nothing to say that could contribute to the conversation. I'm debating whether or not to go over to them when I hear a tap on the door. One tap. It's light, hesitant, and I'm well aware who it is.

I cross over to the door and grasp the handle in sweaty palms. On the other side is the slim figure I've come to know so well. She's dressed in black, like she always is. That chalky stuff she puts under her eyes is smudged, and her face is almost as pale as mine. Today she's wearing a dress with sleeves so big that they give her wings, and her signature pout.

I don't honestly remember when Morgan changed. She was a happy, smiling girl, and now she's a freakish, depressed young woman. Her hair is black and tangled and looks like a decent home for a rat, and her lips are red and possibly bloody from biting. When she sees me, I notice the spark of happiness in her eyes, but she doesn't smile. I can't remember the last time she did that.

"Hey," says Morgan, barely making eye contact with me. She lingers on the doorway and it's clear that she doesn't want to come inside, where my family will obviously judge her. "Reaping day." Her shoulders slope downwards. If I didn't know her, I'd say that she was terrified, but I don't really think she is. She might even enjoy the Hunger Games, if only for a chance to see just how depressed she really is.

"Yeah," I say, slipping into my broken sandals. She wants me to go somewhere with her, I just know it. I wish I knew what she wanted to do. I breathe in and it feels as though I'm inhaling sand. Neither of us is any fun to be around on reaping day. We're two withered souls, husks of our normal selves. Well, I am. Morgan's always like this.

Morgan manages to draw me out of the house just by fiddling with her pockets and standing just out of reach. The sun beats down on my face, and she flattens out, as though she hates its warmth. "Come on," she says, and turns away. I close the door and follow her.

We trudge in silence, both with our heads down, both with our hands in our pockets and our minds in the Capitol. "I hate today," I mutter finally, kicking at some rocks in the road.

"Yeah," says Morgan. Her lip begins to bleed and she wipes away the blood with her tongue. "Turn here." She's led me to her house, I realize with a sense of relief. _That's all. Nothing bad, then. _

Morgan's house is a cavernous place. It used to feel luxurious to me, but now that her father has died it just feels sad. We never talk about him, but I think his death sparked the change in her. The upholstery is dusty and the house is quiet. Morgan's mother is probably in her room upstairs. I don't see her get out too much.

Morgan waves me into the living room. In the center of the room is a table, and on that table is a strange thing that I've never seen before. A strange device rises from a small box, and there's a crank attached to the side. Morgan catches me looking. "Phonograph," she says. "It's called a phonograph."

"Phonograph," I murmur, feeling the word clicking against my teeth. I reach out and touch the crank with my index finger. It shivers.

Morgan grabs it and turns it, three times. There is a crackle, and music pours from the tube at the top of the device; old, scratchy music of a quality I've never heard. Morgan watches me, clearly expecting something. The music is upbeat and orchestral. I'm not sure what she wants.

After a moment, she holds out her hands. "Dance with me," she says. I really, really don't want to dance. I've never done it, and I don't know why Morgan wants me to do it now, in this dusty room with this scratchy music. But somehow it feels right, knowing that by the end of today, one of us might be gone for good.

The music has turned darker, sadder. Tentatively, I let Morgan wrap one hand around my shoulders. I let my hand drift to her nonexistent waist. The music catches us and we sway from side to side. Light filters in through the thick glass on the windowpanes. We turn and bump into the little table. Neither of us laughs. Our eyes are locked on each other, and we are stiff and frozen in position.

There is a loud click from the phonograph, and the scratchy music stops playing. I remain where I am, looking at Morgan. She seems pleased; although she isn't smiling, her eyes look happy. "I always wanted to do that," she says, and offers no other explanation. I don't suppose I'll ever know what a phonograph really is, and how it got there, and where it's been until today. It doesn't really matter.

Every year on reaping day we do something like this. Last year we walked all the way to the wheat fields and leaned on the fence that separates us from them. Morgan pulled up a few strands and made us both crowns, and we ruled over District Nine. Sometimes I still think about how I've been crowned king of the district, and smile a little. The year before that, Morgan took me to a deserted alley where she'd found a mother cat giving birth to kittens. We each took one and helped the mother clean off the rest. I named mine Scraggle. He died a few weeks later. Morgan's cat died during the first night.

The year before that, Morgan's father was still alive, and we did normal things come reaping day.

Morgan runs her fingers through her hair. "It's from another time," she says, nodding towards the phonograph. "There used to be words, but we aren't allowed to listen to the version with words anymore. The Peacekeepers took it away." Her eyes are hollow. "It was my father's favorite."

My heart stills in my breast. We don't talk about Morgan's father, not ever. She doesn't seem to be expecting a response, though. She tends to open up on reaping day. Sometimes I can see a hint of the old Morgan, the cheerful one. But that girl is gone now, and it's better for both of us that her reappearances are infrequent.

"I still remember the words," says Morgan, and offers no other comment. The silence in the room is stifling. I want to say something, but silence has become my medium. Even with Morgan I'm mostly silent. No one listens to me anyway.

The flutter of wings makes me jerk my head upwards. Morgan looks up too, and I'm so surprised by the smile that breaks across her face. It's radiant, joyous, and I realize that something other than me is making her happy again. That something has wings, apparently, because it flutters down from the rafters a moment later.

She's got crumbs in her hand, and when she bares her palm the bird hops into it and begins to peck. It's a small brown bird, mostly unremarkable, but Morgan has always loved animals. She isn't smiling anymore, but the joy dances in her black eyes.

She begins to hum, watching the bird. The fact that she's happy should be making me overjoyed, but there's no emotion in me. The dreadful fear is still weighing me down with every breath. I can't say anything about it, can't spoil this moment for Morgan. I suppose she started feeding the bird, and that's how it came to be so close to her. She must be ecstatic, showing me the trust that has formed between her and the little feathered creature. And all I can feel is that hollow terror. I'm a terrible friend.

"Can- can I touch him?" I whisper. My words hang in the air. Solemnly, Morgan nods, and I reach out with my index finger. Clumsily, I pat the small of the bird's back. It leaps into the air, wings whirring, and lights upon Morgan's finger. This time, when I stroke my finger down the feathers, the bird remains still. I can feel its tiny heart thumping underneath my finger. _Thump-thump._

"_Alouette, gentille Alouette," _Morgan sings. It's quiet, raspy; she never had a good voice. But I recognize the tune. _These are the words to the song, _I think, and the naked rebellion frightens me. I shrink away, and Morgan watches as I back towards the couch.

_"Alouette, je te plumerai," _she warbles, as if she's daring me to be frightened or to tell her off. My words are stuck in my throat.

"Morgan…" I whimper.

"_Je te plumerai la tête,_

_Je te plumerai la tête,_

_Et la tête,_

_Et la tête,_

_Alouette,_

_Alouette."_

Her voice breaks off suddenly. She's glaring at me now, and the bird too seems weirdly judgmental. "I hate this," she whispers, and she's talking about her father and her sadness and the Games. It's dangerous.

I nod, my palms beginning to sweat. "What does it mean?" I whisper, and I know I'm joining her in her tiny defiance and that I'm making a huge mistake.

"Lark, nice lark," says Morgan. "Lark, I will pluck you."

The bird in her hand cocks its head and flutters away.

"I will pluck your head, I will pluck your head, and your head, and your head, lark, lark. There's more," she adds. "_Je te plumerai le bec, et le cou, et le dos, et le ailes. _There's more than that even, but I can't remember."

"That's awful," I tell her, thinking of the bird that she's befriended, surrounded by its own shucked feathers.

She just looks at me, and I know she's thinking of the same thing. She closes her fist around the crumbs. A few slip out and drop to the floor. She nods her head towards the door, and I know she means for me to leave her, alone in the room with the bird and the phonograph and the terrifying song.

Suddenly, it's all I can do to get out of there.

My heart hammering in my chest, I manage to escape to the exterior of Morgan's house. She frightens me, she really does. She's my friend and I care about her, but I think she's going insane. And I can't think of a single thing I can do that will prevent her from falling into the darkness that she loves so much.

I'm not paying attention to my surroundings. When I'm absorbed in a problem, I tend to lose myself in my thoughts. Even now I'm thinking of ways to bring her back to the light. Books, she used to love reading. And more quality time together, so she doesn't have time to think about the bad things. The bird is a must. She needs something to take care of that can provide companionship to her when I'm not available.

Where am I now? Far, much too far from the reaping square. I'm going to be late. I let my mind drag me all the way to the wheat field where Morgan brought me last year. Thinking about her led me here. My feet work on autopilot when my brain is in motion, and that isn't always a good thing. I must have been worrying for an hour, more maybe. And I haven't come up with a thing.

"Hey." I jump, and turn unwillingly. A Peacekeeper stands behind me, arms folded over her ample chest. "What do we have here? An urchin trying to get out of the reaping?"

"Oh, n-no," I stammer, taking a step back. "I was just…"

She looks me over skeptically, takes in my appearance (which can only be described as spacey) and frowns. "You're going to be late now, soldier," she says. "I should punish you."

My eyes widen and my throat clogs up. _Please, no, it was a simple mistake, _I think, but the only sound I can make is this weird whimper.

She sighs. "Why do I bother? Get over here, kid. We'll do this the cool way."

"Cool… way?" I manage.

She glares. "Yeah. Cool way." When she sees that I'm incapable of movement, she leans over impatiently and grabs my wrist. "Come on," she says, yanking me forward. "I've got places to be, you know."

I'm still somewhat preoccupied with "the cool way" so I don't respond. I'm expecting something large and frightening, so when the woman rounds the fence and yanks out a bicycle, I'm a bit shocked. I've never met anyone with enough money to afford a bicycle. I reach out towards it with tremulous fingers, and the Peacekeeper woman jerks it between her thighs. Now reaching out and touching it would be frightfully awkward, so I stuff my hand in my billowing pocket instead.

"The name's Lynn," says the Peacekeeper, studying her bicycle. "You'll fit on the handlebars," she says, and slams me down. My butt stings with pain but Lynn has closed her arms around me and I can't shift to relieve some of it.

"What's your name, soldier?" she asks, beginning to pedal. I'm not in any position to answer her, but she might throw me off the bicycle if I don't say _something._

"Jerin," I gasp, teeth chattering.

She raises an eyebrow. "Ever been on a bicycle before?"

We're moving _very _quickly now, and my fear of falling off has increased tenfold. If she crashes, it's going to hurt so bad. "No," I squeak.

She grins. "First time's the charm!" she says, while simultaneously making so sharp a turn I can feel the drag in my gut. I squeal, she grins, and I realize that for a Peacekeeper she isn't so bad.

That sentiment is shattered when she slams on the brakes and I go sprawling onto the ground. "Up!" she cries, grabbing my arms. "Reapings have started! You're _laaaate!" _Her voice is clearly pleased. "And so am I," she realizes, and stops smiling. "I escort the kids on the train," she explains, while hustling me towards the square. "Poor kids. They're always so terrified." The square looms into view, and I realize that a girl is already making her way to the stage. I _am _late.

Lynn notices this too. "We'll just stay here," she says, giving up on the notion that she's going to get me with the other 15 year old boys.

Even now, with my being so late, I'm not paying attention. I want to find Morgan in the crowd, but I can't spot her in the sea of people. I can hear the song, though, in my head. _Alouette, gentille Alouette…_

The escort is speaking into the microphone. Freakishly dressed like always, with a gem-encrusted cape that costs more than I do. He makes a motion with his hand and reaches for a slip. _Alouette, je te plumerai…_

He pulls it out and glances at the name. His lips form words. _Je te plumerai la tête, je te plumerai la tête…_

"Jerin-

_Et la tête_

_Et la tête_

"Flynn!"

_Alouette_

_Alouette_

I'm dead.

Lynn's eyes widen around the same time mine do. She looks at me, I look at her. _I'll see her on the train, _I think, and for a moment the terror goes away. But then it returns tenfold and I'm stumbling to the stage, unseeing, heart hammering. I think Lynn is behind me, and she gives me a light push so I can get onto the stage. The escort takes my hand, presses it into my district partner's, whose name I still don't know. He says something to the crowd, and they clap dutifully.

Blackout. The terror is too much and my life flashes before my eyes and when the faintness and fear goes away I'm sitting on a bench in the Justice Building. I can hear my family sobbing outside the door. They come in and they hug me and they all cry, and I get the feeling that they're comforting each other more than they are me.

Nothing. I don't feel anything.

They leave, and my hands worry at the hole in my shirt. They are so sticky with sweat that I can't keep my fingers pressed together. There is a tap at the door, the tap I know so well. _Morgan, _I think, and the morning's events come back to me. The bird, her darkness, my fear for her sanity.

There's no way. She will not be normal if I die. _When _I die. Because I'm definitely going to die.

She slips into the room like a shadow. There is a bulge in both pockets that I notice immediately. I want to ask her what she's hiding but I'm afraid.

She stands in front of me, ruined. She isn't crying, but I can see the insanity that she barely managed to hide this morning. It's brimming in her eyes now, raw and powerful. With a sudden jerk, she pulls the first thing out of her pocket.

"_Je te plumerai la tête," _she says, and holds out the headless corpse for me to see.

_She snapped, _I think, and watch as she drops the bird onto the ground. It's still bleeding. I wonder how she got the head off, and the thought makes my insides twist. My eyes fill with tears. _I can't save her. She's crazy. She's crazy and we're both going to die._

"Don't, Morgan," I whisper, but there's nothing I can do. Whatever is going to happen next will happen whether I want it to or not.

The bulge in her next pocket is larger. I watch as she reaches inside and pulls out a thing of black plastic. It's a hilt, a hilt to a knife. She mentioned that she was carrying one around these days, for protection. _She'll kill me, _I think, watching the shiny metal. _She'll kill me before I die horribly._

_"Et la tête," _she tells me, her eyes dancing. Her hand whips out and the knife scores into my cheek. I scream, clutching at the gushing, clotting cut. She looks at the knife and cocks her head. "I missed, _Aloutte," _she whimpers. "I wanted to save you."

So I was right. Even now, she's trying to save me.

The door opens, and white-clad figures scuttle inside like crabs. She turns the knife in on itself. _Tragedy, _I think, and reach out, but I'm far too slow in this condition.

It enters her heart. She looks at me and smiles like she used to. _Crazy, psycho, mad, _I think. _I love you. Don't go._

She dies around the same time the pain in my cheek grows red hot and I fall into darkness.

* * *

"Hey, soldier."

So I'm alive. I was hoping that I was dead. It would be better.

My eyes feel like they've been sewed shut. I manage to force them open, somehow, and sit up with herculean effort. I'm still on the bench, with a white bandage around my face. It's all red with blood.

Lynn hovers over me. "He's alive," she says. I glance at the ground, but there's no sign of Morgan. I wouldn't think it had happened at all, if it wasn't for the burning in my face.

"Never happened before," mutters Lynn. "No one's ever tried to murder a tribute before they left. Who was that, anyway?"

I work my jaw and the pain nearly makes me black out again. Lynn takes my hand and I get to my feet. The other Peacekeepers in the room form a protective circle around me, but there's no one left to hurt me.

They'll take me to the train in complete safety, the train that's going to bring me to my doom.

We begin to march, with Lynn at my side. Protecting me. The emotions are so intense that I can't feel anything at all. _Reaped bird dead Morgan dead how is this happening to me?_

Everything has fallen to pieces. I've got nothing left but the song, ringing in my head. Maybe they banned it because of this. Because of the tragedy it brings along, accompanied by downy wings and the inquisitive chirp of a lark.

_I'm going to die, _I think,_ and it's going to hurt._

_Alouette, gentille Alouette._

_Alouette, je te plumerai._


	10. I'll Cry for You

**A/N-** Time for a little break from the reapings. Those who read Thirteen faithfully would have come to know each of the tributes, from District One to District Twelve. It was sad to have to discontinue the story but as I said in an A/N Neon was the victor. Well here, thanks to Olive, we have a chapter from Neon, explaining everything that went on in the Games and giving an insight into Neon as a victor. I just want to say a big thanks to Olive for writing it, Thirteen now seems complete with this chapter.

* * *

**District11-Olive A/N: **Hi all! I asked Jake if I could write this final chapter for Thirteen, as most of you know it has had to be discontinued. So many people, including authors and also outside readers, have become attached to these characters and the story in general. I wanted to pay tribute to them by showing their fates in the Games and also to show how the Victor came to be. Enjoy everyone and I hope you don't cry reading it as much as I did writing it (I just adore these characters, okay, so hard to kill twenty-three of them in such a short time).

* * *

**Neon Edison, Victor of the Thirteenth Hunger Games**

**_District11-Olive_  
**

* * *

White light gathers behind my eyelids and slowly they flutter open. The light proves too bright and I force my eyes shut again, squeezing them tightly in an effort to block out the pointed light rays.

"She's awake," a voice whispers from across the room and I squint my eyes towards the noise but see nothing. The only thing visible to my narrowed eyes being a wall of white with splatters of darker colors, no detail, just basic shapes. I slowly release the tension on my eyes and allow them to open, a mainly white room coming into focus around me until I can see every detail from the gold accents on a picture frame in the corner of the room, to the antenna sticking up from the top of a strange device that sits in the hand of a Peacekeeper.

I turn my head slightly and feel the muscles in my neck begin to loosen. I look down and see that I am lying in a white-clothed bed, with thin blankets neatly covering my body. I move one of my arms beneath the covering until I see the white skin peek out from under it. A tube is connected to my wrist at the base and I can see blue liquid running down into my arm. I look down to my chest and at least five more tubes connect there, in addition to one on my other wrist. I couldn't move right now if I tried, not without ripping the tubes from my flesh. I don't want any more pain, I can't handle anymore. I remember the pain, but my body is calm now. Nothing but a sense of peace that seems to have settled over me; something in the blue liquid that has taken away the pain.

An Avox enters the room with a silver tray, her red outfit coming as a shock after the total whiteness of the room. She presses a button on a control panel by the side of my bed and the mattress curls up beneath me, forcing me into a sitting position. She sets the tray on a small table that she places over my legs and removes the tube from one of my arms, allowing me to move it without fear of hurting myself. "Where am I?"

The woman doesn't even look up at me as I whisper to her, and she continues to move the pillows about on my bed and straighten my blankets. I move my hand away from the food, not feeling very hungry at all and she finally looks up at me. The woman motions towards the tray and looks at me expectantly. I say nothing but shake my head at her, leaning back into the pillows to get as far away from the food that is for some reason making me feel sick. She breaks my gaze and removes the tray from in front of me, placing it on the table beside my bed and removing the small table from across my legs.

I see the door open and in walks Matilda, a sad smile on her face and her eyes filled with tears. "You did it, Neon. You won."

At first I don't understand what she is talking about, what have I won and how? But then, within just a few seconds it all comes flooding back to me. The images awaken me from my half-asleep stupor and my throat feels constricted as I start to choke on the air that rushes into my lungs. I bury my face in my hands and my body shakes as I cry into them. A warm hand comes to rest on my shoulder and for a while I just sit there, remembering. Remembering where I am. Remembering why I'm here. Remembering who is _not _here.

I feel pressure beside me on the hospital bed and then warmth as I am wrapped in unfamiliar arms. Instead of pulling away though I press myself into my Mentor's body as she mutters comforting words and empty reassurances. She tells me that everything is alright and that it's all over now, but I know it's not. I won but the Games aren't over, I've seen the other mentors and they don't look like everything is alright. Maybe Matilda can deal with it, but she was always strong. That's what people say about her, she didn't break like people thought she would because she was stronger than the others. But I'm not strong, it should never have been me that came out of the arena. Everyone thought I would die first, I didn't have a chance. But I came out all the same, I'm still here because of those people that said I wouldn't be. They never paid attention to me, all thinking that I would die eventually anyway. The Gamemakers probably thought the same thing. That's why I'm here, not because I deserved it but because they forgot about me.

I didn't want to win, I just didn't want to die. I knew Fir would kill me slowly, I had made it too far to be spared with a merciful, quick death. I didn't want him to hurt me, I was scared at what he would do to me. I never wanted to be the last one, it should have been James, it should have been that girl that came in third, Erina. It should have been anyone else. _Anyone_ else.

"It shouldn't be me," I whimper. "It shouldn't have been me."

"Of course it should be, Neon," Matilda coos and caresses my hair softly. "I knew you could do it."

"But, but I didn't want to win," I choke out through sobs.

"I know that too," she whispers and her voice cracks and trails off. "But you're here now, and I'm here to help you through it."

"What do I do now?" I whisper and this time it's my voice that cracks.

"Tonight is the final interview, you go out there and show them a strong Victor."

"But I'm not strong, not like you."

"I'm not strong Neon, none of us are," she whispers softly into my ear. "I'm just good at pretending to be."

* * *

The fabric of my dress feels tight around my small frame, the shoes far too small and my hair too soft. My body has been made into an identical version of myself before the Games, before dirt had the chance to penetrate my skin and before nature had had its way with my hair. I twist the lacy fabric between my fingers and bite down hard on the side of my lip until I taste blood. I spit the blood onto the floor beneath me and my breaths grow raspy as I back away from the red drippings, a million images of blood and death flash through my mind. Azura-Jay laying in a puddle of his own blood as the life drains from both his stomach and his eyes. Erina climbing down to the floor of the Cornucopia hole and blackening within seconds to the smell of cooking flesh. The desperate, wild look on Fir's face right as he slashed at my foot with his already bloody axe.

I press myself against the wall furthest from the small as I struggle to catch my breath. It's too much, it's too much already and it's only been a couple of days. I can't do this. My head whips around, looking frantically around for a door until my eyes spot one. I run to it, my shoes clicking quickly as I dash across the room. My arms fling open the door and I crash into a man in a white suit, who turns around and shoves me back into the door I had come out of before closing the door behind me. My head feels too light and the room starts to turn around me, forcing me to sit down on the cold floor where I bring my knees close to me. I curl up like this until a familiar hand strokes my hair and a calming voice shushes the sobs I didn't realize had been coming from me. I look up to see Matilda kneeling beside me, my Stylist and Prep Team grinning widely at the door. All of them are dressed in luxurious fabrics and designs, and I notice that the common color in all their outfits matches that of my dress. A pale, near white blue.

Matilda helps me to my feet and straightens the hem of my dress as the room fills with excited chatter. Matilda says nothing to anyone and neither do I, but when M'Shell enters the room she comes over to me with a pleasant grin on her face. I try and force a smile to my own lips but find myself unable, I used to be so good at falsifying my feelings but now I wear my heart on my face and everyone can see it. Everyone can tell that I'm not happy but none of them but Matilda seem to care. All they wanted was to be on the team of the Victor and they got that, why shouldn't they be happy?

"One minute," a mechanical voice comes over the loud speaker and I scream. It's that voice, the same one from the Launch room. The same one that sent me into the arena. My body begins to shake so harshly that Matilda must grab onto my wrists to keep me from losing my balance.

My panicked voice comes out in a whisper, "I don't want to go back, don't make me go back."

"Neon, Neon listen to me," Matilda's face comes close to mine and her voice is tense and worried. "It's not the same voice, it's not. It means they want us to be ready to go onstage now. You remember what we talked about?"

I nod shakily and she leads me by the hand to one of four tubes that sit in each of the corners of the room. I stop as soon as we are within six feet of the tube and she pulls softly on my arm to help me forward. "It's okay, trust me. You're safe now."

Reluctantly I step into the tube and immediately the glass closes around me. It's just like in the Launch Room all that time ago. I'm going back in the Games, this is a cruel trick by the Gamemakers to put me back that place. No, I won't go back in there, I won't. I can't. My hands pound on the glass but no one else in the room seems to be able to hear me. They all step into their own tubes, ones that look just like mine. They're all going with me. Don't they understand what's going to happen; don't they know where they're going? I watch helplessly as Matilda steps cautiously into her own tube, taking deep breaths to calm herself as the glass closes around her. I want to reach out and have her hold my hand again, she's the only one that understands, she's the only one that's been there.

The grins on the faces of the Prep Team and Stylist never waver as they shoot up into the air. My one tube doesn't move but I know it will, I know it will shoot me back into the arena with the hole and the doors and the death. M'Shell's tube shoots up and I cry out, my shriek echoing back into my own ears. Her smile is more reserved, but still there nonetheless. Why are they happy to be here? They don't understand but they will. But, I understand. I know where we're going and I can feel the bruises beginning to form on my hands as I hit at the glass around me. I have to get out, I can't go back. I _can't_ go back. Matilda's tube takes to the sky and I am left alone, the only one left in the brightly lit room. I don't allow myself to cry but still feel the tears form in my eyes. Matilda told me I couldn't cry, that it would make them angry with me. I don't know who they are but she was serious when she said it and like she told me, I have to trust her. I have to make myself believe that I'm doing the right thing by listening to her, because she is the only one I can talk to that understands.

My tube moves and I cry out in fear, I don't want to go back. I don't want to go back. I can't go back. These thoughts play through my mind as I feel the plate rise and my stomach sink. I press my eyes tightly together and my hands clench into tiny fists.

The lights hit me hard, sheer white emerging suddenly out of unknown darkness. Even through my closed eyes, my pupils burn and I can feel my body recoiling in as the light's warmth hits me as well. Thunder-like sounds penetrate my ears and, not for the first time in my life, I feel tiny. My eyes open and all I can make out is a sea of moving limbs and heads that cheer and applaud loudly as my plate locks into place. A strong hand grips my arm and hoists it high into the air, causing the ocean of sound to increase further and assault my ears with more thunder.

"Now the person we have all been waiting for! The Victor of the Thirteenth Annual Hunger Games, Neon Edison!"

My name is chanted over and over again amidst the tidal waves of sound and for hours I feel like I am just standing there with my hand held high in victory as they cheered for me. I make out M'Shell's powdered face amongst those in the very front row, and with her all the member of my Prep Team as well as Matilda. Matilda uses her index fingers to touch the sides of her lips and my lips curl up in response but it doesn't feel natural. I keep the forced grin on my face until I am pulled gently to the centre of the stage where two plush chairs sit in waiting, just like before the Games at the Interviews. They are the same silky purple color and just as I am about to be seated, a hollow image of a smirking boy appears in the fabric. I startle and jump backwards as District Two, Talon's face fades from the cushions and the seat is empty once more. Jokle offers me a hand with an odd expression on his face but I take it gingerly, allowing him to sit me into the chair that is still far too large to hole me. My feet dangle a good length above the floor and my arms do not lay comfortably on the armrests so I just set my hands in my lap. My back is crunched inward and I stare downward just as I had during my first interview. I didn't want to meet his eyes, I didn't even want to look at his face.

"Welcome Neon, welcome. Two weeks go by and you're right back here with us, was there ever any doubt that it would be you?" He exclaims and my jaw tightens. He's lying; nobody thought it would be me here tonight. Why is he lying? He knows it's not true, everyone here knows it's not. But, yet they all cheer and shout their praises as if they had had some part in keeping me alive out there. Until the final three I had received nothing, up until then I had starved, I was dehydrated. They didn't care and yet they pretend to now that I've won. Everyone wants to be known for betting on the Victor, but I remember hearing M'Shell telling Matilda that I didn't have any sponsor money, James had some but I had nothing. No one thought I would win, not until I did.

I say nothing in response, only nodding politely when Jokle cranes his neck to look at me, his eyes cold and fake but his smile close to genuine. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I answer simply, my voice coming out cracked and forced. I move my eyes to my lap, unwilling to let anyone see how I really feel. What would they think if they knew I wasn't happy to be back here? What would they do to me? Matilda said I had to play the part, but what if I can't? She never told me that.

"That's always good to hear, isn't it folks," Jokle laughs and flashes a radiant smile to the audience who cheer loudly in response. "Now before we get to the rest of the Interview, I think we have some footage that you must be dying to see by now."

He hits me playfully on the knee as the words exit his mouth and I look up hastily to him with wide eyes. But he isn't looking at me, instead his eyes are directed towards a large screen that falls gracefully from the ceiling on the second stage that our chairs happen to be facing. The lights in the studio dim until we have been plunged into darkness had it not been for the eerie glow of the incredibly large screen. The room is silent now as the words begin to play across the screen on a dark background. The Treaty of Treason, I remember it well from hearing it year after year at the Reaping. This time, though, I don't mouth the words along with the eerie voice onscreen. I remain silent and motionless as the words flood past until finally I know that it's over. The darkness fades and the Justice Building of District One appears, followed by District Two but skipping District Three until the end. Each tribute gets a couple of seconds, more for the ones who made it further like Fir and Erina, but the only Reaping that is shown in full is mine.

I watch myself walk tentatively up the steps to the stage with wide, shell shocked eyes and when the screen gives a close up of my face I can see the small streams of tears coming from each eye. I don't shiver or shake like some of the others, I don't look fearful, merely shocked. James' Reaping too is cut short, just like the others. He was only a Bloodbath death, they think he doesn't matter. I feel a teardrop fall onto my hand when the camera closes in on his pale face, a strong fighter just by the look in his eyes. He tries so hard to get away, stabbing a Peacekeeper in the hand to buy himself some time. I find myself silently pleading for him to run, faster this time so that he can get away and live. But the result is as I knew it would be, he is brought to the stage and the camera cuts to the Tribute Parade just before we shake hands.

Close ups of intricate headdresses and makeup fill the screen in no particular order. Some of the better costumes take focus for a few seconds but most of the time the screen is filled with images of me and James. My eyes frighten me the most, outlined by dark blue just as I remembered. I look alien and my face is unreadable. For the first time I see the monster, I see the thing that could kill so many people and relish in the victory. But that soon fades to a set of pictures, the Bloodbath tributes along with their scores. I see James among them, his face blank and unreadable. A blackened six hanging under his image. After that the pictures flash by in order of death, leaving only a few seconds within which I could recognize their face and put it to a name. They began to slow down by the time the final five came around; Rae with her impossible ten, Alyssa with her brilliant smile and her four, Erina with those dream-like eyes and a score of five, Fir with his guarded features, until finally the screen pauses on my picture. I look directly into the camera with an almost sleepy expression, my lips are open slightly and my eyes are blank. Then the seven pops up, that stupid number that made the rest of the tributes look at me with suspicious glares as if I had done something wrong.

The interviews fly by in a string of words, sentences flowing uncomfortably from untrained lips. Promises of returning that would never be fulfilled. Allusions to skills that they knew they didn't posses. Best wishes towards family members that had probably begun to plan their funeral. Only mere sentences are given for each tribute, except of course for me. My interview is played in full. Jokle lets out an amused laugh when the girl onscreen refuses to look at him right away, and the crowd chuckles at her when she stutters her quiet responses. The room goes silent just before my last words are replayed, everyone remembering what I had said from watching it on repeat since I had made the top five. Knowing that I would be someone to know about now that I had made it far. When I won it became all the more important, everyone could speak along with the words that came from the speakers but the room was silent as the final exchange between Jokle and I takes place.

_"Very interesting. Last question, what is one thing you would like to say to the tributes this year?"_

_"Remember my name."_

With that the screen fades to black again and my body tenses further. A mechanical voice breaks the silence and soon the entire room is filled with voices counting down along with the numbers onscreen. Five, four, three, two, one. The projection lights up and the arena comes into full, aerial view. All of us are lined around the outskirts of a huge, circular room tiled with tiny grey squares. Twelve large arches are cut into the outer walls of the rooms, each with a stone number looming over the top of it. One to twelve, each one a district as I figured out quickly. In the very centre of the room is a huge hole that contains the Cornucopia. All eyes are focused on the hole and I remember that none of us could see what was in it. We all knew, of course, but it had never been hidden before. Twelve ladders lined the hole, each leading steeply down to the ground and tunnels lead from all edges of the hole into more tunnels. I never saw those until later, just a day before the finale did I try and explore them, no longer worrying that a tribute would be hiding within for I knew where everyone was at that moment.

The camera starts to close in on many of the tributes, each in turn. Some looked close to tears while others had confident expressions such as Silver from District One. Her eyes were lit up like the metal she was named for as she eyed the new challenge ahead of her. Maia, the girl from District Eight stared fearfully at the ladders and the hole into which they led. Her teeth cut into her lip and I could see small droplets of blood forming around them.

Another countdown began, but this time it was louder, so much louder that I had to reach up and cover my ears lest I go insane from the sound. They'd all seen this before, they knew what was about to happen, the blood that was about to be shed and yet they cheered for it to go on. I, on the other hand had lived it, more than once in fact. Each dream I had after that day, both inside the arena and out, began with this very countdown. The one before everything I knew became lie and everything in my nightmares became reality.

"Three! Two! One!" I hear the rhythmic chants become louder as the numbers dropped off their tongues. As the final number poured from their lips the gong rung out, louder than ever, and I choked out a shriek. My hand flew to my mouth as my breaths became ragged, watching all the other tributes run off their plates and begin climbing down the twelve ladders. Except one, the first one to run directly away from the path to the Cornucopia. Me, with my stark blonde hair and the same simple black jumpsuit as every other tribute, with a red "13" stitched into the chest. For a few seconds the cameras focus on this me as I run away with my blue eyes wide and innocent. But I'm turned away and gone before anyone died. I never saw this Bloodbath, but now I have no choice, I can't run away this time no matter how much I want to.

The camera finds Zeo from One and follows him as he dashes forward, picking up Tommy from Eleven by the neck and sending him flying into one of the stone arches. The crack of bone is magnified times ten when he hits the stone head first and I bite down hard on my hand to keep from screaming. Zeo doesn't so much as stop in his pursuit, rushing past several other tributes to get to one of the ladders.

Every death is displayed in excruciating detail, glorifying the blood and flesh that are shed from each vulnerable body. My eye close tightly when I see An-wei approaching Dale from Six, knowing full well that this must be it. She told me she'd killed before. Even seemed proud of it to a certain degree. That was always what scared me most about her, she already knew the feeling of inflicting death. I never could trust her because of it, it built a wall between us from the moment the proclamation left her lips. I wanted to believe she wasn't like the Careers, that she wasn't going to kill me in my sleep to get herself further. But, the thought was always there. It was one of the reasons I couldn't cry for her when she died. Which makes me believe we had more in common than I originally thought.

My eyes scrunch together further when I hear his scream rise above the childish battle cries. I couldn't make myself watch. I could just keep my eyes closed like this forever, I don't want to know anymore.

A cold hand brushes across my knee and when I open my eyes slightly I see Jokle starring back at me apprehensively. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the laughter and humor gone from his eyes. I train my eyes back to the screen. I don't want to see all this, but it seems I have no choice.

Derak from Nine turns on his own district partner, Rae, whom he attacks with a ferocity beyond what I thought him capable of. Zedock from Five and Derak from Nine fight for a while, both with a terrible fierceness that I would have never thought either of them capable of, even though Derak holds his own weapon. Derak's strong expression wavers for a moment after delivering a blunt hit to Zedock's face. Zedock pushes Derak back in what I think is an attempt at escaping, but Derak's foot catches on something and his head hits the hard wall behind him with a sickening crushing sound. A whimper escapes my mouth and I have to turn away, I feel sick and I fear that I might throw up right now, right here, in front of all of Panem. Jokle looks sternly at me once more and I whimper again before turning to the screen with teary-eyed vision.

After one last look at Derak's bloody skull, the camera finds Oceava from Four creeping silently down one of the many Cornucopia tunnels. I see another, darker figure rush down the hallway and stop as her and Oceava come face to face. I recognize Rae from Nine once again and watch with terror as she lunges for the young Career. Oceava doesn't even have a second to dart backwards before a knife finds a place in her heart and leaves her lying limply on the tunnel floor. Before her body even stops flinching though, the camera moves onto another, newer kill. Forgetting the girl that was just a year older than me as she dies alone on the cold floor.

I watch with dread when I see Ariella from Eleven walking into a part of the Cornucopia maze. The camera closes in on her foot as she steps on a bump in the ground. The effect is immediate, dirt and rocks fall from the ceiling and Ariella shrieks as it hits her from all angles, burying her alive. Her hand reaches out to someone that the camera doesn't see, but I know there must be someone there. The expression on her face is pleading, blood running down her face and bruises quickly covering her body. The camera leaves her before the debris can kill her.

The scene moves into the Cornucopia, with Alexander from Ten running with his ally, Maia. A blonde haired boy tackles the younger girl and she lets out a squeal. The boy's blue eyes are wild and feral, like those of a wounded animal, but I recognize him instantly. That boy is my district partner, James, the closest thing I ever had to a friend. I turn my head away, knowing that the Capitol will forgive me for not watching this death. It is acceptable to be attached to your district partner, anyone else though it is not. I bring my hands to my face and cry into them, the tears dripping down my arms and falling to the fabric of my dress. I don't hear a scream, so I know it was fast. But that doesn't make it any easier and the sobs don't stop, not even when Jokle lifts my hands from my face and smiles in the direction of the screen I am expected to watch.

It looks like the Bloodbath is over now, only the Careers are housed in the buried tunnels. But I'm wrong, for a loud crash alerts the group to another presence, and my heart sinks when I see Harrison, the boy from Eight with the unwavering smile, standing behind the mess, his toothy grin nowhere to be seen. Silver from One toys with him and I feel each mark made on his body on my own, feeling myself flinch each time the blade touches skin. Her knife finds a place in his chest and a raspy sob escapes my throat. This time, though, I hide it behind my hand, he was never my ally nor my partner, I'm not supposed to feel sad for the boy with the smiles. But I do, I feel sorrow for him and for every other tribute that ever stepped foot in that arena and didn't get to leave alive. Each one of the twenty-three that I am supposed to forget now but won't. My mind won't let me forget, each of their names are etched into my mind like my own or those of my siblings.

The Bloodbath really ends there. Seven tributes gone in mere minutes. Quick shots of each alliance and loner are shown before the screen plunges into darkness once again. In thick, white letters day two is announced. Nothing much is shown on the second day, and I breathe a sigh of relief that maybe, just maybe the rest of it won't be so bad. The sun sets in the sky and Maia, Alexander, Jade, and Winter are shown. Winter lies on her stomach with Maia kneeling over her and rubbing water on the thick slash in her lower back. A cannon sounds and Alexander presses two fingers to the side of Winter's neck to check her pulse. He shakes his head slowly at Maia and she collapses into Jade, crying hysterically as the other girl comforts her and strokes her hair. I feel a lump form in my throat and more teardrops slide down onto my hand. Maia really cared about her, and then she's gone just like that. It isn't fair, I keep repeating this in my head until the words exit through my tears. It isn't fair, it isn't fair.

Day three and no one dies, the Capitol replays the meeting of An-wei and I after she got caught in a Gamemaker trap. I remember the wounds so clearly as if they had been etched into my own skin. Lines of blood across her legs and thick balls of ripped away flesh from where the barbs cut into her. She told me it had been like a jaw closing around her legs, cutting into her flesh like a hundred sharp teeth. We agree on staying together and I show her to the tree I had slept in on past nights. Thick enough to hide in but easy enough to climb. The scene faded into darkness, from which came the words "Day Four".

The light comes back to An-wei and I walking through the forest region of Tunnel Seven. I spot the alliance before she does, but the plan is all hers. The plan that killed someone else. I want to throw up at the memory that I had done this, willingly even. The plan was simple, throw something to ensure that the alliance went towards An-wei who held the knives. The cannon boomed as I watched with blank eyes, one of the knives had found a target in the side of Jade's head. I looked so calm but I remember the sick feeling that rushed over me. It comes back now and I feel sick again, watching the blood drip down the side of her face once more. I cry for her too, the tears for Winter, Harrison, James, Ariella, Oceava, Derak, Dale, and Tommy mixing with those now shed for her. The one I helped kill.

Kaya dies that evening, as I already remembered. Lit a fire that burned her alive as her allies watched helplessly. I always thought of her as careless, from the early training days when I watched her light swords on fire. She had asked for this, and I shouldn't be sorry for her death. But, I am. I'm sorry that she wanted this, I'm sorry that somehow, someone or something convinced her that this, this _game _was okay.

The fire onscreen dies with Kaya's blackened body still at its core. Darkness ensues again signalling the end of day four and the beginning of day five. My body still shakes like a leaf, reliving everything it feels like I'm still there, in that place, fighting against kids who need and want to kill me. The audience is so silent, it is easy to believe I'm still there. I have to turn away from the screen so that I don't get lost in it again. I don't want to be lost in Victory, I want to be dead. I want someone else to be here and be reminded of everything they could have done differently. Not me, someone else. Anyone else.

On day five the Careers find Aamon. Talon, Zeo, and Silver charge against the boy who tries so desperately to get away. The Careers take swipes at the boy with their respective weapons and I feel my heart pound, knowing how it ends but feeling hope for the boy still. Aamon dodges a stab from Zeo's spear but moves right into range of Silver's sword. Without hesitation the Career swipes at his stomach, her beautiful face twisted into something truly evil. Her sword lashes across Aamon's stomach and leaves him doubled over in pain on the ground. Silver smirks at her two allies, running a hand through her curly hair. Just as Silver is about to deliver a lethal blow to Aamon's head, another tribute runs in. Talon is bleeding from the neck before the camera can even get a good shot of Rae from Nine who smirks at the other two Careers from a distance. Talon's cannon fills the room before he even hits the ground, but Zeo retaliates fast, throwing a knife that hits Rae square in the shoulder. She screams out in pain and runs from the area before any more damage can be done. Another cannon sounds and the camera moves to Aamon who lies in a pool of his own blood that still flows freely from the cut in his stomach. The screen fades away seconds later from a close up of Talon's half-closed eyes.

Day six is skipped, and I remember why. There were no deaths on this day and apparently no interesting fights. I hate how they miss the parts that made these tributes real, where they might have talked about their families, their friends, their lives before they were forced to take part in this stupid game. Most people find it so easy to forget people whom they never knew, but I know I won't ever have that luxury. I can see each and every face in my dreams at night, each death that I witnessed and each tear that I saw fall from an innocent eye. I won't ever forget, but I want so badly to.

Day seven fades in and I cringe, remembering An-wei and I running to get out of the tunnel as the door closed in front of us. I absentmindedly brush my hand against my knees, remembering the first injury I received. It wasn't serious, but it made things difficult and more uncomfortable than they had been before. Sure enough, the first thing to show up on screen is the moment when An-wei and I slip under the door. I hadn't realized how very close we had been, it seemed impossible that both of us had made it. What I hadn't seen then was the other two tributes running behind us, rushing to pass through the same door we had. Maia and Alexander, the last two left of their alliance, run towards the door, with Maia leaning heavily on Alexander. But a few feet from the door, Maia falls and Alexander is forced to choose between saving himself or dooming them both, and like any human being he chooses himself. I find myself hating him at this moment, just sliding under the door and leaving Maia vulnerable on the floor. But can I really blame him? Was that not what I did to An-wei not one day later? The camera lens looks foggy and I realize that the room must be getting filled with some kind of gas. Maia grabs at her throat for just a few seconds before her hand falls limply to her side and her cannon sounds.

The screen cuts to evening and I watch numbly as Erina, Alyssa, and Zedock skip across the islands with Zedock in the lead. The trip wire catches my eye and I nearly scream out to Zedock, who turns back to tell Erina to hurry up before speeding ahead. Immediately a spear flies from a nearby tree and impales him through the stomach. Alyssa and Erina rush to comfort him but the screen cuts to the moment he dies, the two girls crying with their heads on his body. I feel tears hit the back of my hand as I watch Erina kiss her fingertips and close Zedock's eyes respectfully.

The image fades away to black and letters spell out the announcement of day eight. My breath catches in my throat and shivers take over my body at the mere mention of day eight. My own dirt coated face takes over the screen and the room is silent except for the sound of my heavy breathing. I watch my own pale eyes widen and a scream escapes my chapped lips, calling loudly for An-wei. I see myself crouch down beside Azura, the blind boy from Four; words fall from my lips but no words are heard in the huge room, only intensified music. An-wei arrives and urges me to move forward but, with tears cutting through the filth on my face, I tell her I won't. I crouch next to Azura with my small hand lost in his huge, bloody one. I ask him what had happened but he won't tell me, only uttering the name of Erina over and over again. She wouldn't have killed him though, I still think that now and probably always will. She was too sweet to kill anyone and yet he speaks her name like a curse and I almost want to believe that she did. Azura dies minutes later and An-wei forces me to keep moving.

The scene cuts to later that morning, again focusing on An-wei and I. A knot forms in my stomach and I close my eyes tightly when I hear the telltale shriek of the monkeys. I don't need to see this again, the image is already burned so freshly into my mind that I feel like I'm still there. I remember hearing them and running immediately, with An-wei following me closely. I remember her screaming as one of the gold-furred mutts' claws ripped into her chest. Once she was on the ground they all came for her, at least half a dozen of them attacking her at once as she flailed her arms and screamed a horrible, painful scream. I remember seeing her and running as fast as I could, and when I open my eyes that is exactly what I see, my eyes wide and panicked as I fled from my dying ally. Abandoning her because I didn't know what else I could do.

I realize I'm crying again by the time evening rolls around, my body shaking with inaudible sobs and my hand brushing away tears that are only replaced seconds later by new ones. The screen shows the Careers but the tears cloud over my vision so that I am unable to see them. I know that no one else died that day, because it was only Azura and An-wei's faces that haunted me that night from the sky. So I don't worry about what is going on onscreen. I hear Silver's smooth voice announcing it's time for the Careers to split up and two male voices grunting in agreement. The screen fades to black just seconds after I am able to see again through my tears.

Day nine and one of the three remaining Careers die, the boy from One, Zeo. The camera shows him lying in a pool of blood centered around his legs that are mangled and torn. His eyes are shut and his face is twisted in pain. He dies just a minute into the recap, no doubt from the injuries inflicted to his legs. It's almost peaceful to watch his body relax and fall into a calming haze. If I hadn't known better, and hadn't seen the bloody pool around him, I would have thought that he had merely fallen asleep. His eyes are closed and a cannon sounds, alerting everyone to the fall of yet another strong tribute.

Day ten is announced and the camera catches Alexander and Silver in the middle of an intensified fight. Alexander slices a long gash across Silver's face, from her forehead to the base of her nose and she grimaces but quickly recovers. They both lash out at each other, each landing many small hits and dodging each other's larger attempts. Silver delivers a deep stab to Alexander's shoulder and she smiles in the small victory. Alexander moves through the pain, not allowing Silver to get a hold of her spear and leaving her defenceless. He pulls the weapon from his own shoulder and throws it as far as he can into the area surrounding them. Alexander lunges for Silver with a new ferocity, gaining confidence in the fact that she is weaponless. Silver blocks several hits with her hands, leaving them torn and bloody but ultimately protecting herself for a while longer. Alexander fakes a lunge for her stomach and then goes for her chest. Silver falls to the ground, struggling with the knife sticking out of her chest. As the camera closes in on her I see tears fall from her eyes as she realizes it is futile. She turns herself away from Alexander and pulls the knife harshly from her chest. Blood pours from her mouth and she coughs violently before going still to the sound of her own cannon. Alexander stumbles away covered in blood that is both a mix of Silver's and his own.

Day eleven comes and the final five emerges when Rae kills Alexander who had been sleeping away his injuries. Blood is sprayed everywhere from his mangled throat and Rae gags at the sight of it, wiping the sticky liquid from her face and arms. She takes out her water bottle and spares a few drops to try and clean herself off. But to no prevail, because the red stain only grows, leaving her covered up to her elbows in blood. She runs from Alexander's body with her arms held in front of her, as if she were afraid to touch herself.

Day twelve and Fir finds Rae. She had been trying to find a way out of the tunnel and to where the other tributes were located but instead she found the most dangerous competitor besides herself. Fir swings his axe around towards her head as she rounds the corner but Rae is quick to dodge it and lunge at him with her short hunting knife. He easily parries her weapon and his axe swings around again, this time landing itself in the side of her head. Before her body even hits the ground, her cannon has sounded. Fir yanks the axe from her temple and walks off with a smirk towards the other open tunnel.

The camera finds me again, this time running through Tunnel Four with a tiny backpack, my first sponsor gift. I find the door to the Cornucopia open and run inside, scrambling down the ladder towards the muddy hole below.

The last day of the Games and my breathing becomes steadier in knowing that I must only witness three more deaths, and that twenty have already passed. The audience is literally on the edge of their seats despite having already seen the end of the Games likely many times prior. My fingers fidget in my lap as the screen lightens slightly to see Fir walking carefully through another tunnel. He seems to hear something because he presses himself against the nearest wall just in time for Erina and Alyssa to round the corner towards him. Without missing a beat, Fir is on top of Erina, with her screaming and struggling to get him off of her. Alyssa tackles Fir off of her ally and screams at Erina to run, Erina just stands there for a long time but after another shout from Alyssa she takes off down the hallway, still shaky from the attack and a thin stream of blood running from her shoulder from Fir's weapon.

Fir and Alyssa struggle with each other for just mere moments until Fir's axe lands in her chest, ending her life almost immediately. A squeal is heard from a while away and Fir looks up to see Erina peeking around the corner. She takes off running as soon he spots her and he is quick to his feet and scrambling after her in seconds.

The screen cuts to me as I hide in the shadows of one of the closed arches, before it shows the thin wires sitting on the bottom of the Cornucopia with a tiny, electric device hidden under the mud beneath one of the ladders. It was the only sponsor gift that I received in the duration of the Games, a small machine that held a huge amount of electric current and a length of wire that was long enough to encircle the Cornucopia.

Erina is the first one to reach the Cornucopia room, scrambling through the door with Fir several metres behind her, still limping from his tangle with Alyssa. Erina steals a glance behind her and rushes towards the ladder, not noticing me watching her from the shadows of the archway. As she stumbles down the ladder I hold my breath, knowing that the second her foot touches the floor it will be over for her. I never made the trap to kill her, someone so innocent and so much like myself. I did it because I wanted a chance to live, not knowing that living might just be worse than dying. Erina leaps from the ladder with Fir close behind her on the rungs. As soon as her body touches the floor an electrical impulse courses through her and her body freezes up, falling to the ground immediately to the sound of her cannon.

Fir sees this from his position on the ladder and, like I realized he would, he tries to scramble back up the ladder. I run to the base of the ladder that he is climbing and my eyes are wide with panic. This is the moment when I realized that he would come back up for me, that he would kill me and that it would hurt. He wouldn`t have made it easy, not on his final kill, and not with someone so easily killed. I didn't want him to hurt me, and with all the strength in my body I kicked out at him as he neared the top of the ladder. He swipes at my foot with his axe, cutting deeply into the flesh and causing me to scream out in pain. But I don't let it stop me, because I'm too scared at what he might do to me, I kick him as hard as I can in the face and he lets go of the ladder for a second because of the surprise of the impact. A second is all it takes though, and his body falls to the ground where it freezes up before going limp right beside the blackening body of Erina.

That's where the screen goes black and the lights fade into the room again. They didn't reshow the part where I curled up and cried until the hovercraft picked me up. They didn't let the audience see me scream out in mourning for everyone I had seen die. They didn't see me yelling out for them to let me die. They only showed my victory, the parts of the movie that made me into some kind of idol that I knew I wasn't. They didn't show anything that made me seem like anything less than a hero.

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As soon as they allow me onto the train I go directly to my room, despite M'Shell's protests that I must stay and welcome the newest tributes. I'm fourteen now, but I still feel exactly the same as I did a year ago when this same train took me to the Capitol. I still feel the same helplessness despite the fact that my life isn't on the line. I've already won, but yet the tears come all the same as if I was just another tribute about to face death for the very first time.

My fingers tap against my legs rhythmically when I sit up again, my eyes scanning the room cautiously to make sure I really am alone and not on one of those interview shows again. My mind wanders to Silver, she loved being in front of audiences, that much was obvious from watching her during the Tribute Parade and the Interviews. She would have loved being here.

I pull up the long sleeve of my dress and trace my index finger along the many marks that spread from my wrist to the bend of my elbow. Twenty three of them, all different in some way but all part of me. Starting with Zeo and ending with Winter. All of them, some deep and some shallow, some straight and some curved. I find the second one, a shallow cut that curled in on the sides, a perfect representation of the District One girl. She didn't touch me well enough to be a deep cut, so hers was shallow, but the curled edges were because she was pretty, always so pretty. So I made her memory pretty too.

My eyes went to the thirteenth and seventeenth, An-wei and Rae. Theirs were perfectly straight and kind of shallow, because they were both always so serious. Then the nineteenth, Erina's, hers was deeper than a lot of the other ones because I felt like I could have been close to her, the mark was wavy too because she was so easygoing and nothing seemed to bother her. It just fit her I think, for her cut to be wavy and not straight.

The sixth one was for Azura, and it was deeper than a lot of the other ones. It was mostly straight but with a curly tail because he seemed so serious but I think there was more there than that. He wasn't nearly as heartless as I think he tried to look. His mark had two little dots next to it, because he had such pretty eyes that I wanted to remember them forever so he couldn't hide them again.

The fourteenth cut is Harrison's. It is the second deepest one because he was the second person to be kind to me. His line isn't straight but curls up at one end and down at the other; it looks happy like he always was. Tracing my finger along the line I feel happier somehow, like maybe just remembering that someone was happy here makes it easier for me.

The fifth cut is the deepest one, the first one that I made after I got home from the Capitol for the first time. It's thicker than any of the other ones and goes all the way around my wrist like a bracelet. He was my only real friend that I have ever had, and I don't want him to leave me. The lines for his don't all look the same because he wasn't like everyone else and he was different. But it's the prettiest one to look at because it isn't like all the others. Just like James, different and wonderful.

There's a knock at my door and I pull down my sleeve as quick as I can. No one else is allowed to see them, they wouldn't understand. They would say they are bad and that I should get rid of them. But I don't want to, because they let me remember something about the names that fly through my mind at night.

"Neon," I hear a voice say and I realize its Matilda. "The tributes are here; don't you want to meet them?"

I shake my head quickly and bring my arms around to hug my knees again. My body rocks back and forth on the bed in perfect rhythm and when Matilda comes to sit next to me the rocking stops and I collapse myself into her arms. She's the only one that I can talk to about anything, but even she doesn't know about my scars. She wouldn't understand that, she would just tell M'Shell or my parents and they would make me get rid of them. I don't want to do that.

"It's your job to mentor them, the least you can do is come out and meet them," she tries again and I shake my head in answer. She lets out a breath and moves me from her arms to the bed before standing up in front of me with a desperate look on her face; tears brimming her eyelids. "It isn't easy, but you have to get over this, Neon."

I don't respond and she runs her hands roughly through her hair before leaving the room, closing the door behind her with a heavy _thud_.

I don't want to meet the tributes, I don't want any more names in my head that I'll have to hear over and over again in my mind. I don't want any more scars because that would mean more deaths. I just want to go home. Not the home that is that big house in the row of more big houses. With its perfectly manicured lawn and polished furniture. That's not home.

Home is where I feel safe, that is not home. I want to go home.


	11. District Ten Reapings

**A/N-** I hope you enjoyed yesterday's little update, and I hope you enjoy District 10! :D

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**Fluffy Bunnies Are So Cute A/N- **Hai everyone! I'm Fluffy Bunnies Are So Cute, and I will be writing for this _amazing_ 24-author collaboration story, _Fourteen_, as Adalia Davenport! I hope you enjoy this (as well as Nex) and review, expressing your thoughts, whether they were negative, criticizing, or positive! Thank you (:

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**Adalia Davenport, District Ten Female**

_**Fluffy Bunnies Are So Cute**_

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I sit on the haystacks, staring blankly out of the barn doors. My arms are curled around my skinny legs, head resting just on top of the knees. The world is silent today. Almost as if it is in deep grievances—mourning, as if they knew what the day was.

It is the day of the reaping.

It is the day that started it all. The beginning of his unquenchable blood lust—the beginning of a horrific end. I lean back on the haystacks, the slightly itchy feeling against my back a familiar, yet somewhat relieving sensation.

But the images that flash beneath my closed eyelids, clear as day, as if it was a personal movie are not. Screams echo within the depths of my ears, and I squeeze my eyes even tighter together, just wishing for it to _all go away._

My small, calloused hand finds its way to the ladybug necklace around my neck, but even the presence of it does nothing to reassure me. Derek, my older brother, is nineteen now, and he has surpassed the age of the reapings.

But I am not so lucky.

Out of the hundreds of females in District 10, I could be the one that was picked. The unlucky one.

After all, luck was always a stranger to this family.

"Addy? Adalia, are you in here?"

Recognizing the voice, I slowly make my way off my perch on the haystacks deep within the barn. Derek meets me halfway between where I am and the barn doors. He takes one look at me and wraps his slender arms around me. My head only reaches to his chin, even at my height of five feet and nine inches. I wrap my own arms around his torso.

He presses his face into my long, black hair, lightly kissing the top of my head. "It's going to be okay, Addy. We're going to be fine. And in 4 more years, it'll be over, I promise," he soothes, murmuring into my hair.

I cannot see his face in the darkness of the barn, and I want to say, _"But it won't be over. They'll make us watch it all._" I want to say, _"You shouldn't promise things you cannot keep." _And above all, I want to say, _"What if it is me?"_

_What if I was chosen?_

All the other homes would be in great celebration on having their children safe, while two would be dark, morose. Derek would have no one to grieve with… if I was chosen.

_If I was chosen._ The words that have haunted me ever since… ever since Caud.

_If I was chosen._

Derek untangles my arms from around him gently, looking down at me. I feel as if I'm looking into a mirror—our deep, purple eyes identical. Our mother's eyes. "C'mon, Addy. We have to get ready for the reapings."

_The reapings._

_Tributes._

_The Hunger Games._

_Death._

Caud.

My mind whirls in a cyclone, sudden words overpowering me. I clench my eyes shut for a moment, before opening them, and looking at Derek. I give him a slow nod, and he takes my hand, carefully leading me out of the barn.

The barn that I may never see again.

We arrive at our small, modest home, the distance between us silent and farther than usual. Derek gives me one more comforting look and heads off to his own room.

I glance around our house, slowly memorizing every crook and crack in the walls, every creak of the floor, every squeak of the doors in need of oiling. I walk around the foyer, my long fingers slowly dancing over the light pink walls with peeling paint, and the white rims that have turned gray over the years. My eyes travel up, to the dusty ceiling with cobwebs lingering the far corners, and then down, to the once shiny wood.

Finally, I glance at the old rocking chair in the corner—the only completely intact object in the house. It is still in pristine condition, being the only thing that Derek and I bothered to keep unspoiled. Slowly, I lower myself into the stainless, light green cushion, rocking myself back and forth.

My hands clutch the necklace around my neck once again, eyes fluttering close as I recall one of the only memories that I felt genuinely happy in.

* * *

_"Mommy?" I asked, perched on her lap. We were sitting in the old chair, and she clutched me to her bodice tightly, rocking back and forth._

_Her kind face smiled warmly as she looked down at me. "Yes, baby girl?" she wondered, pecking me lightly on the forehead. "What is it?"_

_I fingered with her necklace that hung low, just in my reach, tracing each of the red scale-like gems with my small fingers. She always had it tucked into the front of her dress, but now it was out. The almost red glow of the jewels mesmerized me, and I chewed my bottom lip in awe. _

_"Mommy?"_

_"Yes Addy?" she cooed, still smiling at me as she called me by my pet name._

_Dropping the necklace back onto her dress, I stared up into her eyes. Daddy always said I got my eyes from Mommy. "Mommy, what is this?"_

_With a small laugh, Mommy hugged me tighter. "It's a ladybug, Addy."_

_"Like my name!" I exclaimed, giggling._

_Nodding, Mommy murmured, "Just like your name. Adalia is a genus of ladybugs."_

_"… G-genus?" I questioned, my head tilting to the side in curiosity. "What's that?" I shook my head, black hair flying. "Where did you get it?"_

_She kissed my forehead again. "I'll tell you sometime later, okay Addy?" I nodded, snuggling my face into her warm neck. "Now how about we go pick some berries outside?"_

_Lifting me off her lap, she set me gently on the ground and stood up. I placed my small hand into her larger one, smiling up at her. "Okay, Mommy."_

* * *

When I open my eyes, Derek is in the room, fixing his shirt and looking at me with worry etched on his face. Although I want to look at his face, although I want him to come over to the chair and comfort me, I stand up and walk to my room.

After stripping myself of my clothes, I sit in the tub, rubbing the layers of grime and dirt from me, as if washing away layers of years from me. The water isn't cold, but not quite warm, although bearable enough to sit in. My long black hair is wet and plastered to my body. When I finish, my skin is raw and pink, while the tub is full of murky water, hay and dirt lingering around the surface.

With a shuddering breath, I dry myself down and open up the old doors of my wardrobe. The wood that was once a shiny mahogany is now a faded brown. I search the far end of the wardrobe and pull out a dress I've never worn; my mother's dress.

The fabric is still in good condition; nothing ripped, stained, or out of place. It is a plain, long-sleeved purple dress, the shade matching the same as my eyes, with small, almost unnoticeable pockets. I quickly slip it on, the fabric tighter around my bodice and waist, as well as my arms. I sigh, seeing how it only went to above my knees, and curse inwardly on how I was so much taller than my mother. The lady bug necklace is replaced around my neck, hanging low to almost my navel.

Quickly running a brush through my hair, I braid my front hair and pin it back, so it still sits limply down my back.

Once I walk into the foyer room again, Derek and I head out the door. I cannot help but notice how… _stiff_ we seem. It's almost as if… as if we both _know_ I'm going to get chosen. I shake my head, training my eyes on the gravel-covered ground.

_If I was chosen. _

That sentence comes back to mind, as if it was personal mantra—only, a negative one. A sentence I can't erase from my mind.

If I could delete many things from my brain I would. The memories… they are just entirely too overwhelming… and they're all crystal clear. It might seem like a gift—a privilege, even. But if I were to describe it in one word… I would call it a curse.

Derek nudges my side lightly, and my line of sight changes moves from the ground, to the crowds of people packed into the town square. I look behind me and see more people arriving, causing waves of panic and claustrophobia to surround me.

_Everyone_ from District 10 will attend the reaping—_everyone_. Attendance at the reapings are absolutely mandatory, and if you don't attend, you would be sentenced to prison. They send officials around the district, knocking on everyone's doors to check.

Despite all the people filing and signing in, it is silent. People wait patiently—so patiently, it is on the verge of impatience—for the reaping ceremony to begin. Derek and I wait to sign in, the only noise audible being the heavy breathing of worried, anticipating people.

I do all I can to keep my hand from shaking as I sign in.

As soon as both Derek and I are finished, I wrap my arms around him, hugging him tightly. _This is it. _The twelve to eighteen year olds must sit in a roped off section—the older kids in the front, and younger ones in the back. I, however, am required to sit in the middle.

Derek leans over me and plants a kiss on my forehead, staring into my eyes. "Don't worry, Adalia. You—_We'll _be fine." He was about to say 'you'll', but changes it to 'we'll'. I bite my bottom lip, knowing that my eyes are about to sting with tears.

_You will not cry, Adalia. Adalia Davenport does not cry. _

"Okay then, Addy. I'll see you after the reapings." With another kiss on my forehead and a quick hug, Derek lets go of me hesitantly, and then walks over to where he is to sit.

I watch him leave, my heart pounding. How can he walk in such a calm manner? How can he be so confident I _won't_ get chosen?

Unlike Derek, I walk with shaky legs, using all my strength to not fall over. Even if I did, and broke my leg, I would probably have to partake in the Hunger Games if I was chosen.

Peacekeepers line the sides of the roped off areas, fourteen of them; seven on each side. I walk over to the one in the very center, where the fourteen year olds sit. As I sit on the verge of a nervous breakdown, my eyes wander to all the people around me, who are chatting as if it is a normal day, and not the day of the reaping for the Hunger Games.

I stare off into the distance, trying to keep calm. The day was sunny. Undeniably sunny. But since it was the day of the reaping, it seemed as if the entire country of Panem had been blanketed by dark, tumultuous clouds.

A couple people catch me staring blankly, not at them, but in their direction, and they send me looks of disgust. I shoot them a glare and they turn back to their conversations.

"Hey." The voice comes from my left, and I turn to look at them. It's Cadence, a girl who goes to my school—and one of the only people who even bothers to try and talk to me. Normally, I'd be annoyed and just ignore them… but today wasn't normal. It was the day of the reaping ceremony. And… quite frankly, I was glad she wanted to talk to me. I needed the comfort of someone who wanted to talk to me—just for them to _be_ there.

I'd have to settle for Cadence, since Derek wasn't here. I nod at her and she gives me a small smile, most likely happy that I acknowledged her for once.

"Are you… worried?" She asks this question cautiously, as if she's afraid that I might lash out at her.

Under these circumstances… That's not terribly _unlikely_. With a shrug, I tried to make myself look as indifferent as possible. "Why would I be?"

Cadence turns a bright pink, as all the blood soars to her cheeks. "Well… uh… you… look worried…?" I purse my lips, trying to figure out some way to look un-worried, and stare at her harshly.

"I'm not," I snap, my annoyance starting to show.

"Even if you did get chosen… I'm sure you'd win…" She nods slowly after that, before walking away, causing me to sigh.

_Great._

There are three chairs and a podium on the stage, with two bowls full of names on the opposite sides of it. In the center chair, is the mayor, Mayor Belongia. To his left, there is a wild looking lady, with light blue skin, bright pink hair, and yellow eyes—most likely our escort from the Capitol. On his opposite side, is another person, a male with black hair and dark green eyes, undoubtedly our mentor.

Mayor Belongia gets up from his chair and stands before the podium. He clears his throat once, twice, and the relatively silent town square becomes even quieter. "Eh hem." He then begins to read the same story told every year at the annual reaping ceremony.

He tells of the history of Panem; a bright and shining country that rose out of the ashes of what once used to be called North America, bringing peace and prosperity to the chaos there once was. Then, the mayor continues on about the Dark Days—the rebellion of the thirteen districts against the Capitol. Over a period of time, the twelve districts were overpowered, and the thirteenth district became no more. Mayor Belongia concludes the reading with the Treaty of Treason—which not only gave new laws, but the Hunger Games as well.

Every year, I've watched the Hunger Games—I've seen how the 24 tributes from each district fight to their deaths, in a vast outdoor arena that the Game makers can easily bend at their whim. I've watched the Capitol's annual approach on showing us how little power we have against them, every year.

"Your mentor this year will be Boston Tile, winner of the 6th annual Hunger Games," Mayor Belongia says. The man to the right of his chair nods stiffly, looking straight forward, his dark green eyes looking as if they could murder someone by just staring at you. The crowd gives a light applause, but Boston doesn't even bother to respond to it.

The mayor shakes his head lightly, most likely wishing he had a more… enthusiastic mentor to present. He then presented the escort from the Capitol. "Please welcome Miss Jeen Jensen! Our very own escort from the Capitol itself!"

Jeen bounces up to the podium while the mayor excuses himself and sits down. Her long, outrageous pink hair sways in her ponytail, and her silver, glittery lips are stretch wide across her light blue face in a grin.

_She has enough enthusiasm for both her and Boston… _I think sourly, raising an eyebrow at her choice of attire. She was wearing... an _exotic_ and extremely colorful outfit—something common around the Capitol. With her huge, multicolored monarch butterfly dress, I had to question the fashion sense of the Capitol, even if I wasn't into that sort of thing.

"Happy Hunger Games to you all," she all but giggles in her Capitol accent. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" She walks over to the bowl with the girls' names in it. "Ladies first!" she chirps, waving her also multicolored fingernails around the bowl.

She snags a slip quickly, only to realize that she had grabbed two of them. With a giggle and a shrug, Jeen placed one of the two slips into the bowl.

The room is silent, anxious to see who will be the unlucky 'winner'. Jeen unfolds the paper slowly, almost dramatically, and I'm fairly sure I'm holding onto my seat in anticipation. As she reads the name, the anticipation grows, along with the clog in my throat.

Holding the microphone up to her silver lips, Jeen smiles, before shrilling in her saccharine voice, "Adalia Davenport!"

I can hear whispers and soft murmurs. _"It's that girl…" "She's the girl with her psycho brother…" "They say that her brother murdered her p—" _I can't move. I can't speak. There's nothing my body will let me do—nothing I _want_ to do. Everyone turns to stare at me, and it's all I can do to pull up a blank, nonchalant face. "Ooh, goody! Adalia Davenport, is that you? Please make your way up to the stage, dearie!"

My feet move of their own accord, step by step up to the stage. My heart pounds, louder and louder, faster and faster. Its beat screams in my ears, and I'm sure everyone in District 10—maybe even Panem—can hear it.

_NO. _

_No. Not me. Not me too!_ I feel as if I'm going to combust as I travel the short distance from my seat to the stage. My mind whirls like its flushing and swirling down a drain. It goes around and around at a dizzying rate, and I feel like I'm about to faint. My hands sweat—thankfully unnoticeable to the viewers, as I remember this is broadcast in front of the entire nation of Panem—and I clench the sides of my dress tightly, my fingers curled into fists.

_Why me? How is this fair… It's not fair! I can't be like _him_! What about Derek? He'll be all alone!_

Once upon the stage, next to Jeen in her ridiculous dress, I struggle to stay stable. I cannot meet Derek's eyes; it's too painful, too heart-wrecking. He will be all alone… not just for the few weeks in which the Hunger Games'll take place… but possibly even for forever.

Jeen smiles brightly at me, her yellow eyes wide and childish, and I cannot help but growling lowly at her. She blinks, startled for a moment, before she regains her joyous face once more. "You must be Adalia, is that right? Ooh, you're such a beauty!"

My face remains much like Boston's when he was introduced and I debate on whether I am more angry or saddened. Jeen claps for me, soon joined in by the rest of District 10. I stand there, stiff and unmoving, my eyes trained on the ground, as Jeen moves onto the bowl full of the names of the males.

Her performance is much quicker than what she did with the bowl full of the female names, but I don't pay any attention. All I know, all I can _think_, is that I am the female tribute for the 14th annual Hunger Games.

"Nex Winters!"

_I think I know that name…_

I break out of my dazed trance to stare at the male tribute. He is tall and slim, although it looks like he can pack a punch. His face is solemn, with a hint of bored-ness, his green eyes standing out against his black hair and pale skin.

And then I realize who he is. He's that kid who had the suicidal girlfriend.

When he makes his way up to the stage, our eyes connect for the first time; purple against green. He gives a stiff nod and Jeen grasps both of our hands suddenly, with her own blue ones. She holds them up high, as if we were the victors already, before putting them down.

"Now shake hands you two," she giggles, smiling wildly.

Nex stares at me, as if he's trying to figure me all out _and_ my entire life story, while I glare at him. Finally, he drops his eyes and holds out a single hand. Still staring him down, I hesitate before complying. Our handshake is a stiff, jerky one, with no compassion or congratulatory smiles at all.

"Face the audience now," Jeen whispers loudly, as we obey without any arguments. "I present to all of Panem, District 10's tributes for the 14th annual Hunger Games, Adalia Davenport, and Nex Winters!"

An applaud from the crowd begins as I stand up, back upright, and eyes staring straight forward at a bleary spot in the distance. I can't bear to look at where I know Derek is sitting.

But I know that I'd have to confront him before I left for the games. Because… somewhere, deep down, I knew that if I didn't talk to him now, the last time he'd see me would be my death, broadcasted on the screens throughout all of Panem.

* * *

A group of Peacekeepers surround Nex and I as we are marched to the Justice Building. We then are separated, and put into different rooms, where we are left alone. The couches and chairs are a deep red velvet, and the carpet was made out of soft material.

This is where I must wait for an hour; the place where tributes say goodbye to their loved ones and family members, before they are packed up and shipped to the Capitol. Some might have multiple visitors, and will need the entire hour, but I know the only one who will come to visit me is Derek.

As I wait for him, I tell myself not to cry. _You are not allowed to cry, Adalia. Tears are not allowed. You won't allow yourself to cry. Not even if it is Derek. Do not make your last time seeing him a sad one… it's the least you can do for him._

There is a knock on the door as the knob turns, opening the door slightly. A head pokes out; Derek. I can't help but give him a smile—_something_ to help cheer up his upset face. I rub my eyes, making sure there are no tears falling—or threatening to fall—before getting off the couch to go to where Derek is standing.

He pulls me into his arms, resting his chin on the top of my head. The way his body shakes, I know he is crying; crying silent tears. I wrap my arms around his abdomen, resting my head on his shoulder. Derek and I had always been close.

"I can't lose you, Addy. I can't lose you too. After Mum and Dad… and… well, after Mum and Dad left us, all I had was you. You're my baby sister! I can't let you go out there and act as a sacrificial lamb just so the Capitol is entertained… " He trails off and I hug him tighter, blinking back tears. _Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry. "_Of all people, why did she have to choose _you_? My only family…"

There's nothing I can say in response to that, and so I stay quiet. After a moment, I mumble, "I love you, Derek."

"I love you too, Addy." He pulls away from me, and crouches a bit so we are on the same eye level. "Addy, promise me something."

I nod. "Anything," I say, truly meaning it.

"Promise me that you'll do your best, and that you'll try and win it for me."

My voice catches in my throat. "But what if I become like…"

He kisses my forehead. "You won't, Addy. Trust me. You have plenty of talents—you're fast, you're smart, you can climb and build traps. But most of all, your memory is flawless. Make that to your advantage; memorize all the other tributes skills and techniques you see in the training rooms; use it to your own personal gain. Promise me, _please_. I can't live without my baby sister."

Again, I nod softly. "I promise." My voice wavers and cracks, and I know if he's in here any longer I was going to cry.

Derek kisses my forehead again. "You'll do fine, Addy. I believe in you." With one last lingering look, he leaves me in the velvet room, feeling more alone than I ever had.

Surprisingly, after Derek leaves, there was another knock on the door, and a cautious Cadence peeks her head in. Her sudden appearance startles me, but I tell her to come in either way.

She sits down on the chair adjacent to my own and just sits there silently. "You know you're really pretty," Cadence says quietly, after a period of time.

My eyebrow quirks upward curiously and amusedly. "How is that supposed to help me win the Hunger Games? It's a battle to the death; not a fashion show." I know I should have been more pleasant, but I couldn't help the malice that seeped into my tone.

Cadence appears un-phased and she carries on. "You could use it to your advantage—" _Ah, those words again_, "—to get sponsors and what not. Maybe if your attitude was nicer, you'd have all the sponsors well, sponsoring you."

She was telling me to fix my attitude, before I headed off to the Capitol to fight to my death. _Unbelievable._ But that one sentence raised my admiration level higher for her. I knew I was intimidating, yet Cadence still told me to fix my act—and right to my face.

And… it wasn't such a bad idea after all. Getting sponsors never came across my mind.

A Peacekeeper enters the room, telling me that my time was up and that I had to go. Cadence gives me a quick hug, surprising me yet again, and leaves the room.

Nex reunites with me, and we make our way to the train. Boarding the train, I take one fleeting glance at my home for the past fourteen years—District 10.

But it already does not feel like home.

And deep inside me… I know that after the Hunger Games… nowhere will be home for me.

* * *

**Nex Winters, District Ten Male**

_**SparrowCries**_

* * *

_It is raining, how cliché. How cliché for in this moment of tragedy and my heart slowly breaking that it has to rain. It is nearly annoying how the rain beats down onto my head and pushes my black strands of hair into my green eyes. Why does it have to rain? Why can't it be sunny? The rain is hiding the blood and it is almost like there is no blood. That is a deadly sense that things are collapsing. Because there is blood and I want the world to see that she is bleeding. Because maybe then they will help her._

_They won't though._

_Pushing myself through the crowd an almost mechanical sounding shriek releasing from my lungs and piercing through the cold air I shove everyone in my path to the side my blood gone cold and my chest moving rapidly up and down to the ever rushed heart beat I give as my body desperately tries to supply blood all over my panicked and distressed body. I hear another scream too. It isn't mine though this time, and it sounds less mechanical and more frightened and it makes me push one last man out of my way to go and see her. Almost as if the gears in everyone's heads started churning everyone makes a gap for me to move in my pants covered in mud._

_When I do see her I almost regret even attempting to see her._

_Her golden hair drenched and a wild mess around her head sticking to her face, but that isn't the worst. Maybe it is her blue eyes blood shot and wildly looking around at the crowd with a mixture of pure insanity and rage with a hint of fear and desperation for help. The Peacekeeper holds her hands roughly behind her back and I doubt that arms are even supposed to be twisted in such a way._

_She screams again and I find myself standing there mouth open in shock and my numb body half numb from the freezing cold rain penetrating through my clothes and soaking every layer of my skin. The other half of me numb and paralyzed because I am too weak and too cowardly to help her. I love her without a doubt but I can't do a thing but watch her be beaten by the two Peacekeepers._

_She deserves it in a way, this was her suicide mission to come here and mouth off to everyone but they have no idea why she would do such a thing. They never had to watch her fall apart piece by piece until finally when she saw her thirteen year old sister slaughtered on the TV screen. After that I couldn't even speak to her without realizing she wasn't the same. She will never be the same though. My beloved Carolyn with her beautiful shining golden hair is changed into some insane wild woman but I don't care._

_The guilt she felt… she told me in her lucid moments before she went into the deep end that she was heartbroken to know her little sister was a part of the twisted Hunger Games but I knew deep down that she was lying. She felt guilty! She could have volunteered but she didn't because she was a coward._

_She was a coward then for not volunteering and now it is my turn to be the coward and watch my girlfriend be dragged away from Peacekeepers to be made into an Avox while I just stand her like an idiot._

_Just like an idiot._

When my eyes finally open I find myself in the forest. Heavens knows how I managed to get myself here but I did. My back stiff and sore from sleeping on a rock I slowly manage to pick myself up from the dirt and brush off my pants. It wouldn't be the first time I have found myself here. I came to the forest that bordered District Ten so often that I would find myself still here in the morning. I just wish I hadn't decided to spend the night in the wilderness on the day of the Reaping.

Fear? I don't feel it really about the reaping, just a pure sense of whatever happens will happen. Not like complaining or hiding in fear will change my fate. Besides fate has a twisted way of stabbing us in the back whether we cringe in fear or not. I would know.

Maybe the problem should be the fact my family should be worried about me, a few years ago they would have. But when they watch the accident of the family slowly disappear and detach from them my parents learned to stop caring and to just focus on the more perfect and reasonable children of the family. The _twins_, scoffing at the thought of them I make my way out of the forest running my fingers through ever knot in my hair and manage to remove most of the leaves and dirt from it. My family's farm is so close to the forest that my daily trips into the forest are made easy. Hopping the fence I ignore the cows that gather by me mooing annoyingly as I walk in a dreamy state, my thoughts still haunted in a tragic depression over the dream of Carolyn.

Somehow the dream of her last moment of insanity before carted away to be an Avox is still not as sad as the dreams of her happy. I know that she went insane with guilt but having to see her happy and wake up to the fact that she isn't that girl anymore is much more heart wrenching.

Crossing the field the annoyingly hot sun glares down on me. District Ten seems to have constant sunshine but you wouldn't be able to tell with me from my pale ivory skin. I always had a way to be different than the rest of my family. I like that though because if they did care enough they would try to stop me from falling apart but I so badly want to fall apart. As long as I stay awake and alive falling apart is almost pleasant.

The day is sunny but not happy; I wish it would be happy in a certain way. Somehow looking around and seeing smiles and walking through the crowd of smiles is uplifting in a way I can't understand. Yet the reaping has casted some sort of painful spell onto all of the Districts. No one is in their right-mind smiling today. Not even those safe from being ripped from their lives.

Entering the one-floored house I can see that everyone is carrying on their normal routine. The perfect twins that are my siblings are twenty and out of the grasps of the Capitol and my parents don't really give much thought about my safety anyway. Not so that they took out tesserae for me, my family needs none, but they just don't seem worried. But even when they are free of worry or apprehension they still don't smile. They are the only four people in the District I am happier when they don't smile.

Cruel? Maybe but I am beyond caring.

"Nex we started a bath for you." My sister's name is Lilith and like the demon who shares her named she is the most twisted of the family. Beautiful and kind but it is all lies and I seem to be the only one able to see past her curtain of deception.

I stare at her my eyes bearing into hers. Sometimes I end up staring at others; I need to figure them out. They get annoyed but I don't know why, what is wrong with me trying to understand people? Sometimes people can be very strange, oh well I guess.

"Nex stop staring." My older brother Griffin demands, Lilith's twin brother. The weaker one to be honest. I like him because he is truthful but he is cowardly all the same and often just does what our sister says without thought. I creep him out for some reason.

"I wasn't staring," I say pulling my eyes from Lilith and to my parents who silently eat. "Well I guess I'm not welcomed to breakfast." I say. Honesty is key and I always despise when people lie. Even white lies, it isn't up to you to decide what a person learns and doesn't learn. It is up to that person and white lies are just people being polite for themselves and not others.

"You can grab a plate we would love to have you eating with us." Lilith says.

"Your smile is one of a demon's." I tell her. Some say her smile is beautiful but honestly she looks frightening when she smiles.

She glares at me and I grab a piece of bread and a piece of ham eating it quickly not wanting to eat with the family anyway with the glares my sisters give me.

"I am going to get ready." I mutter to no one in particular and leave the living room and kitchen and head to the bathroom where I guess Lilith wasn't lying when she said they started a bath for me. Don't get me wrong they don't hate me, maybe Lilith but not my mom or dad or Griffin. They just like to overlook me. Just like the rest of the population of District Ten.

I like it that way though.

Waiting for the bath to fill to the top I get a towel and my outfit to change into and by the time I do the water is at the perfect amount. Stripping down I get into the bath making sure to wash the dirt and mud from my body that has covered my pale skin after the night in the forest. By the time my skin is smooth and my hair is free of knots I can hear the pounding on the door.

"Yes?" I say responding to the knocking.

"You brat hurry up I have to use the bathroom too you know!" Lilith.

Sighing I pick myself wrapping a towel around myself to cover me up and then pick up my suit deciding I will dry off and get changed in my room. If I take any longer Lilith will have more of a fit and honestly she is really getting on my nerves as it is. It is hard for people to get on my nerves; I rarely care about much to be honest. But Lilith? She is the one thing that annoys me.

Opening the door I walk out my wet footsteps trailing on the floor. "Nex you're going to leave footprints all over the floor!" Lilith complains crossing her arms.

I shrug. "You wanted me out of the bathroom so I got out." I say and she groans as I slip into my room and dry myself off and put on the dress pants and my nicer buttoned shirt. It isn't truly fancy like something Griffin might wear but I like it.

Walking back out of my room I walk through the now quiet house. It is still pretty small, four rooms and one bathroom. Sure there are four bedrooms but each one is pretty only with a window, bed, and a drawer in mine. And it can't fit much more.

"I am leaving for the Reaping." I call out making sure to get a drink of water to drink before leaving before anyone can reply. My family's farm is close to the woods but it isn't too close to the Town Center so I have a walk ahead of me.

It takes a little while and with the blaring sun it feels longer but I am beyond caring. When I do arrive I can see a good portion of the District is already there. I know my family will be too soon enough but I prefer walking on my own. The District already has labels for me and they are giving me looks as if I am insane. People get crept out by me sometimes, I have no idea why though. Some people are just weird like that I guess. I don't act that way I think, I guess it is because I am tall at 6'2.

Walking through the crowd most of the people move out of my way not too good with hiding their nasty looks directed towards me. Getting in the line to check in I wait until I am at the front. Holding out the hand bored looking I wait as the woman gets me checked in and pricks my finger for my blood sample.

When that is all said and done I move at a slow pace making my way as the Peacekeepers do the last arrangements to start the reaping. By the time I finally make my way over to the eighteen year old section just as the mayor begins to speak with the same old same old. I blank out looking up into the sky and like always blanking out to my surroundings. I have heard the same process year after year anyway and I don't think I can stand to hear it once more.

""Adalia Davenport!" I look up surprised and half annoyed at myself for blanking out while the reaping went on. I see a tall and fairly good-looking girl with long black hair and purple eyes, she was tall but she had to be maybe fourteen. Though it still looks like I would have a few inches on her.

"Ooh, goody! Adalia Davenport, is that you? Please make your way up to the stage, dearie!" The escort chimes; I believe the Capitol woman's name is Jeen. She walks to the stage whispers spreading through the crowd.

From what I hear this is the sister of the infamous psycho boy, poor girl. I guess I would know what it feels like to have someone else's actions or life thrust onto your shoulder, something people well always know you as. Nex Winters? You mean the boy with the suicidal girlfriend? The long-term effect of Carolyn is still with me, it changed me and I can admit that with ease. Yet still I have long since gotten over her. Even when I dream of her I only have nostalgia, the physical attraction to the now Avox have long since disappeared from me. Still though she will always be my suicidal girlfriend.

It can be a pain.

When Adalia reaches the stage I can get a better look at her. Rigid body and she looks tense, to most she wouldn't look afraid but somewhere deep in those purple eyes of her I can see fear. Her fingers clenched in a fist.

Just like every year. Bored I glance away once again and from a distance I can see Griffin and know my family has come. I expected they would. Not for me of course.

"You must be Adalia, is that right? Ooh, you're such a beauty!" Jeen says with a smile. I roll my eyes crossing my arms.

Fourteen and freshly reaped yet still she has already being modeled in a sex symbol. That seems to be happening lately with Victors. Very hushed and scandalous but hints of the secrets hidden still pop up here and there if you look close and pay enough attention to things.

Then Jeen makes her way towards the bowl with all the male's names. I always have told myself fear is useless and it is only good for making people not do idiotic stunts so what I feel isn't fear, it isn't nervous. It is anxiety in a way, I don't even know if that is right. It is a sense of not knowing the future or my inability to have control. But what is that called? I have no idea.

"Nex Winters!"

Wouldn't you know I guess at least it is good I am eighteen? Well I don't know how far that will get me. Thoughts try to rush through my head with strategies and plans and as much as I love the thought of getting my plan down for the moment I just focus on the moment. I know I should be nervous by now, most would be fearful. Instead I feel a wash of boredom spread across me.

I don't know about the boredom though, I so often have it that it is natural and the feeling so familiar but right now something is different. For one my throat feels choked up like I couldn't speak even if I wanted to. Still unlike Adalia there is no hidden fear in my eyes, just my normal emotions. Sure I am nervous with anticipation for the future but frightened?

Well being scared won't get me far.

Walking to the stage I reach the stage and move up the stairs with ease and stand next to Jeen my eyes finding Adalia and looking her up and down in a new way then before. This time I study her more carefully. I know she has a psycho brother and that she is tough enough. I also know she is very frightened at this moment, like a deer caught in the headlights. So what else is there to this girl?

"Now shake hands you two," Jeen says and I realize she is grasping both of our hands. It makes me angry and I want to pull my hand away but I decide it wouldn't be best and stubbornly let her hold my hand and then look up to Adalia once more.

She glares at me and I look away slight annoyance in me. What is her issue? I hold out my hand still unsure of what I did wrong and we share a stiff and rigid handshake and the both of us pull our hands back quickly.

"Face the audience now," Jeen says in a hushed whisper. _Foolish Capitol woman. _I think bitterly but follow her instructions. "I present to all of Panem, District 10's tributes for the 14th annual Hunger Games, Adalia Davenport, and Nex Winters!" She holds up both our hands in the air and I give a blank stare to the crowd before finding my family.

Lilith is smirking.

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Leaning against the wall in the fancy well dressed room I tap my fingers against the wall until my parents and Griffin enter the room in a fit of depression and fear. Suddenly they care.

I will never understand them. Why can't they be easier to figure out? They embrace me in a stiff hug and before I realize it I push them back stubbornly a panic spreading through me. That moment when my silent and civilized self disappears and instinct snaps in. They look at me shocked. They should have known though. They should have known. Hugs aren't my things and they definitely don't deserve my hugs. Not after years of pretending like I don't exist because my peers call me insane.

I am not insane and they knew that. They just didn't care because Lilith and Griffin were perfect and I am _flawed. _I don't know what overcomes me but it reminds me of those few days of emotions or the days before Carolyn's death.

That frightens me.

Scratch that, frighten isn't the right word. "Why are you even here?" I growl letting go of the emotionless.

"You are our son!" My mother says.

"Your son?" I let out a laugh. "I might be your biological son but you treat me like a stranger, a pest." I say angrily. It is like the anger from such a long time boiled into one.

Reaped?

The shock is just starting to spread through me and the panic is heavy and mixing in with my new found emotions of rage. "Nex be kind to your mother we feed you and give you a home!' My father says.

I scoff, "I work at the farm all the time, for free. That work is enough to allow a person to live with a family. Being your son is more than just keeping me alive." I say. "You are awful parents you barely even say hello to me and now you storm in here like you actually care?" I shout unaware how I got so angry.

They are left shocked. I can hear a Peacekeeper coming to check in on us because of the yelling. As the Peacekeeper does open the door I back away from my family. Biological family that is. Not a real emotional family. "Just leave." I spit as they are escorted out.

Letting out a frustrated sigh I can hear the blood flowing rapidly through my veins with the sound of my strangely fast beating heart pounding in my ear and filling the silence with a mad annoyance. Reaped.

Reaped…

Just like Carolyn's sister. Except no one will care about me. I so badly want to prove them wrong though, I am strong. I don't want to let them just let me disappear because if I die no one will care. Not a single person, especially now. There won't be anyone to go suicidal because I am gone or anything. Suddenly I have slight regret of some life style choices over the last few years.

It is all her fault, Carolyn. I think this over and over bitterly and each time I do it sounds more and more selfish and soon I disgust myself. I feel myself let out a stifled choke that might have meant tears for anyone else. But because of that damn selfish girl I can't cry because this is the mess she left. So selfish to want to get herself killed because she felt guilty. Why didn't she ever think of the fact that now both her and her sister were dead leaving their parents childless? Did she ever think of her friends she was leaving behind? Standing here in this room I am disgusted at the thought of anyone going so insane over my death.

It disgusts me. What a pitiful and pathetic person that would be. The emotions rage through me, if only Carolyn didn't kill herself. Looking back I don't even know why I loved her but I did and she ripped herself from everyone that ever loved or cared for her because she was feeling depressed. Why didn't she just talk to me?

I could really go for talking to someone. Talking to someone who actually cares and wants to listen to me complain like a child because I was reaped.

There is that word again.

The word keep flowing persistently back and forth through my head leaving me as shocked and wordless as my family after I yelled at them for the first time. What a nice way to go I guess. And just when I feel that the person opening the door is a Peacekeeper to escort me to the train I see Lilith. I was wondering where the brat was.

"You might as well turn around now and leave." I tell her not bothering to look away from the wall. She laughs rolling her eyes and I remember that smirk she had on her face when I was reaped. What a bitch. I mean I dislike my family but I wouldn't want to see any of them reaped, not even Lilith.

"Oh my darling Nex what will we ever do without you?" Lilith mocks, it is unless for her to be so evil and bitchy but she must be overjoyed at the moment.

"I am not dead yet." I don't plan on going down without a fight after all.

She smiles walking over to me. "You are as good as dead though." She puckers her lips speaking in a baby tone. "With all those mean Careers. You know I believe I will use your room as a sun room!"

I grit my teeth together. Why am I so annoyed though? She has never really gotten on my nerves before this bad so why now? "Turn back around Lilith or I swear-

"You swear what?" She says her hands on her hips. I clench my fist. I will not hit a girl, maybe in the Arena but out here I know it is wrong even if such girl in question is an evil witch.

"Leave," I mutter.

She smirks walking away before turning around at the door, always one to be dramatic. "I knew you would wimp out. Can't even hit a girl? How do you expect to live through the Games?"

How do I expect to live? I am not sure now but one thing I do know is that if I ever do have to end up hurting a girl, which I know I will, I just will have to imagine them as her.


	12. District Eleven Reapings

**A/N- **The penultimate reaping! I just want to say thanks to all those who are supporting this. It really does mean a lot. Enjoy District 11! :D

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**Sgarnett99 A/N: **Hey guys, thanks for reading this story! I know by the eleventh reaping you're pretty much done, but I hope you like my character Elliah Feren! If the writing seems a little ramble-y, that's just how Elliah talks, it's not actually a flaw in my writing. Also, I want to say thanks to Jake and all the admins for making this story possible. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

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**Elliah Feren, District Eleven Female**

_**Sgarnett99**_

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_Chaos. There's complete chaos everywhere… it consumes my mind and fear and knots my stomach into a complicated design. _

_Scarlet red blood stains the grass and shuts down my thoughts. _Move, Elliah, _I tell myself, and yet my feet are frozen. In fact, my whole body has seized up with terror. _Move, _the logical part of my brain urges once again. I step off my plate, one foot behind the other. The gore around me makes my stomach writhe, forcing tears out of my eyes. _

_Strangely, even in the chaos, everything is clear and pinpointed, I spot everything in focus, I hear every scream separately, I notice each fine detail. I watch a girl, a tall, pretty, strong one, pick up a weapon. I watch her sprint towards me. I watch her pink lips stretch into a malicious grin as her and the sharp thing she holds both approach me at an alarming rate._

_Running is futile._

_And fighting is completely useless._

_And standing there, screaming, is painful._

_Closing my eyes, accepting my death sentence, pretending to feel nothing as I drift off is my only option. _

_So I let go._

"Elliah, Elliah, Elliah…" A soft child's voice calls, getting louder time my name is repeated. Soft thuds on creaking wood suggest someone is walking towards me. Even just awake, still half in slumber, I would know the voice no matter what. That voice brings out the motherly, protective nature in my half-mad brain. Well, I suppose my brain is a little more than half-mad, even if the trauma it suffered three years ago, when I caught a glimpse of Hunger Games fighting, wasn't a serious one. Perhaps it's a result of spending too much time alone with only my (rather strange) thoughts for company. Those said thoughts tend to take me wherever they please, without so much as a forewarning. It's rather irritating at times, but I do love the adventures I go on, even if they're all in my head. It's a shame none of them are real, though. Sometimes I imagine that my family finds a place outside of Panem where we live without fear of Alex or Isaiah or me being reaped for the Hunger Games.

I open one eye to see my little brother Alex standing in the doorway of our bedroom. His red hair is stuck up in all directions and his little eyebrows are knitted into a frown. He's wearing a one-piece pyjama outfit. My first instinct would be to worry. My four-year old brother is without his twin counterpart, Isaiah? Unheard of. However, when I hear the loud crack of a bowl breaking from downstairs and a small, high-pitched voice that squeals, "I'm sorry, mummy!" I know Isaiah isn't far off.

Even though I can't hear it, I know my mother's sighing downstairs in the drab kitchen because he broke a glass bowl from the set we inherited and we can't afford to buy that kind of expensive china. I know she's thinking of a way to prevent the twins from breaking anymore, that she's imagining where she'll put them.

"Mummy says to get up now," Alex says. He rubs one eye and continues, "It's time to eat breakfast." I frown. The bright morning light floating through the small window in the bedroom the twins and I share suggest it's about nine. It is a weekend, so why should I have to get up early? I am an early riser. It's not the getting up that bothers me, I'm just not used to my mother having to wake me-

My nightmare comes flooding back to me with a rush of fear. I guess I got distracted again. Today is a very important day: the Reaping. I don't know how I forgot about such a looming, ominous event, but my distraction issues must have been getting the best of my mind again. I heave a sigh. "Coming, Alex," I reply, and he turns on his heel, running through the hall and bounding down the stairs in a haste to find Isaiah and probably start another argument with him. It's a shame that they don't appreciate each other, because the harsh Peacekeepers of our district could snatch one away from the other and tear our family apart in an instant. Because in less than ten years, one of them could be sentenced to death in the Hunger Games.

I don't understand why they need this sick, twisted thing to satisfy them in the Capitol. Fourteen years ago, just one year before I was born, the Hunger Games were punishment. The first victor, from District Seven, blindly entered the Games as a test subject. And some terribly cruel force possessed him, took over his mind and made him crazy. He wasn't the same when he returned. Or so I've heard. It's only escalated from there. Now it's a game show. I guess the Capitol needs some craving for violence fulfilled. Maybe the districts wrecked them. Maybe they need their vengeance from the rebellion that ruined our nation. But if the Capitol is assuming the right to seek vengeance, fate will get them in the end.

I learned that from an old man who lives in a shack on the edge of the District. He refuses to tell anyone his name. I believe, from the way is face is strangely altered, he is from the Capitol. Perhaps he escaped after the rebellion. I don't know. But he knows thousands upon thousands of stories from the Old World, before the rebellion, before Panem even. Stories of a place called North America, and a nation across several oceans called Greece. The stories he tells of Greece are beautiful myths and tragic stories about hubris and fate. He says, 'fate will get you in the end. You must not be arrogant or cruel if you wish to be rewarded.' But I don't know if that's true. The kind tributes always die, people say. I hear them telling each other, 'the ruthless ones always win.' I don't watch the Games myself. But I do listen. The Capitol isn't at all nice to us, at least in District Eleven. Perhaps One and Two were better to them during the rebellion. Perhaps we in District Eleven nearly defeated them. Maybe that's the reason there are so many cruel, harsh peacekeepers here to keep us in line. I don't know why exactly. However, I do know that I would like to take that old man's place as storyteller someday. I'd like to pass on tales of the Old World for the rest of my life. I'd like for children to gather around me excitedly while I recount stories of Gods and Goddesses and heroes in a glorious time of literature and beauty.

If there's one thing I'm allowed to want, it's for that future dream to become a reality.

I push the soft sheet off my bed and swing my feet onto the creaky wooden floorboards, rubbing my eyes and standing up slowly. The Reaping is at one-thirty and it's not too late yet. Still, anxiety makes me feel strange, it makes me feel edgy in the same way I do when I feel like someone is watching me.

The female tribute from last year was a fourteen year old girl with a cute button nose and freckles. She had black hair and looked like a typical District Eleven girl. My red hair comes from some other district, I'm not sure which. The girl, named Ariella, reminds me a little of myself, only because she was innocent too. I think we all are, all of us children at least. She certainly didn't deserve to die on the first day in last year's Games. The boy, who was called Tommy, was young and he punched our escort, Krissi Dane, in the face when he was reaped, giving her a bloody nose. I think it was more of a reflex thing, though- he can't have really wanted to punch someone- but I'm certain there will be much higher security this year.

I look in the small mirror that sits on my dresser. I look nervous, which I am. I don't know if people will notice- after all, I don't know if they observe me like I do to them, or if anyone even realizes I'm around. After all, the sweet, bubbly, caring girl District Eleven thought they knew disappeared three years ago when she was exposed to the cruel world where children killed each other. And it wasn't only for their own survival, but to entertain the 'glorious' Capitol. That wonderful girl everyone liked was replaced by a quiet loner who spent hours alone wrapped up in her thoughts. That girl could no longer get through a proper conversation with her parents, let alone the community.

Do they even remember who I was?

I push the thought away and brush red hair out of my face. I walk slowly down the hall, as if that will prolong the time between now and the Reaping. I know it won't, and it'll just give me less free time later. I'm planning on taking Alex and Isaiah out, maybe to the edge of town by some orchard and telling them stories. I want to teach them the story of Pandora's Box, a favourite of mine. I think hope-the lesson the story teaches about-is very important. It is, after all, the only thing stronger than fear.

Downstairs, my mother is giving the boys breakfast. It's scrumptious smelling white bread with berries. A luxurious breakfast. Even being in the middle class of the district, we don't eat like this often. No one has the best quality of life in District Eleven, though. Even if I have the luxury of not having to take tesserae. The security is too tight, the Peacekeepers too mean. The rules are all harshly enforced. There are no days off, not even today. My father is off working in the fields and will come to watch the reaping. I barely see him nowadays. I think he resents my existence, now that I'm only good for daydreaming. His working hours increased a great deal after I went mad and the time I spent alone tripled. So he'll see me after the reaping and be grateful I wasn't picked. And then he'll forget about me for the rest of the year.

"Elliah. You're up." My mother tucks her auburn hair behind her ear and gets another wooden plate. I think she's afraid, now, that we'll break more of the expensive china. I'm not a clumsy person, though. On the contrary, I believe myself to be rather graceful.

"Have some breakfast," urges my mother, putting a plate full of food in front of me, "and then you can do whatever you want for the rest of the morning. Just be home by half past noon so you can be on time for the Reaping."

I nod absently and tear a chunk of bread off my slice, putting it in my mouth and staring out the window at the open fields. "I wanted to take Alex and Isaiah out with me," I say tentatively. My mother looks up in surprise, because I don't usually respond to her. Not with words, at least. I do love words; I just get distracted almost immediately after people say things to me, and, quite frankly, my thoughts are usually more interesting than their questions. However, she nods with a small smile. I'm not my completely sure if she knows exactly where it is I go, but I always make it back fine.

I eat my breakfast in a hurry, trying and failing to savour the taste. Alex and Isaiah have taken to chasing each other around the house, shrieking and giggling, while my mother watches tiredly. I think she'll be just as stressed about this year's Reaping as she was last year, when it was my first time as an eligible Reaping participant.

It doesn't take me long to get changed. I'm not worried about my clothing like some of the girls in my district. Simple shorts and a t-shirt work for me. After all, my looks aren't anything extraordinary and I don't have a reputation to uphold. I don't see any stock in dressing up like our escort, Krissi Dane, or Triana, the popular girl in my class at school. And I wouldn't want to be shoved into an uncomfortable dress on a day like this where I could run through open fields and feel free for at least a few minutes.

"Alex! Isaiah!" I call, standing at the front door of my house. I really am looking forward to telling them stories for the first time, because I've always been on the receiving end of storytelling and would love to pass on tales of the Old World. I hear Isaiah's voice calling Alex, saying I'm taking them out. I smile at the fact that they're excited to be with me.

"I'll be back soon," I promise my mother. She looks up from where she's standing at the sink, doing dishes, and nods. When both of my brothers are at the door with me, I take their hands in my own and lead them into the bright summer's day. It's a shame today is the Reaping, because it'd be quite enjoyable otherwise.

"Where are going?" Alex demands as he pulls me ahead, running with a skip in his step.

"Yeah! Where, Elliah?" Isaiah echoes.

"To the meadow," I respond. "I'm going to tell you a story."

"Ooh! Ooh! A story? Like the old man who lives in the shack? Who tells about Old Word?" Alex exclaims.

"He tells us about the Old _World, _not the Old _Word," _I correct Alex. "All words are old."

"Oh." Alex frowns, thinking about that. "How old? Older than me?"

I nod and look around at the Mockingjay birds that flit around in the trees. We're nearing the meadow I like to spend time in- they stopped growing food here a few years ago and now no one comes. I spend most of my free time here.

"Sit down, guys," I say, sitting cross-legged on the soft grass. I watch them chasing each other, not listening to me, and say patiently, "do you want to hear the story?"

That gets them in front of me immediately, sitting like a student would at their desk. I giggle a little bit at their eagerness, take a deep breath, and begin.

"Once upon a time, thousands of years ago-"

"How long is that?" Pipes up Alex.

"Very long. Now, back in this time, there were many Gods and Goddesses that controlled the world. But in this time, the Gods had fire, and the humans didn't. So they were very cold, all the time."

"Even in winter?" Isaiah squeaks.

"Yeah. Another thing humans didn't have were bad feelings like sickness, pain, anger, sadness, and disease. There was also no hope. Zeus, king of the Gods, forbade the other Gods to give fire to the humans. But someone named Prometheus did anyways, because he felt sorry for them. Wen Zeus found out, he was outraged. He wanted revenge. He wanted to punish Prometheus and the humans."

"All 'cause Promeus gave the humans fire?" Alex asks.

"_Prometheus. _And yes. To get his revenge, Zeus, with the help of the other Gods, created the perfect woman, named Pandora. She was beautiful, caring, a good cook, kind, happy, a good singer, everything someone could want in a wife. However, he also made her very, very curious. Zeus sent her down to earth to Prometheus's brother, to be her wife.

"Prometheus's brother was very lonely, so he was thrilled to have a wife at last." I'm beginning to get distracted, but storytelling helps me concentrate. "However, Zeus sent Pandora with a box that said, _DO NOT OPEN! _He told Prometheus's brother to keep her from opening it at all costs. The brother thought this was a small price to pay for such a perfect wife.

"One day, Pandora was constantly badgering the poor brother about what was in the box. 'Please let me open it, just a peek,' she begged, but Prometheus's brother resisted. 'No, Pandora, Zeus said you mustn't open the box!' He would reply," I say. Alex and Isaiah are watching me, entranced.

"Eventually, Prometheus's brother became tired of Pandora's complaints. He left to go for a walk and said, 'I'll be back soon.' Now that Pandora was alone, she knew no one would see her if she opened the box. She tried to resist, but said at last, 'I'll just take one quick peek and close it. Nothing bad could be in there, it's just a silly old box!'

"So, Pandora opened the box and fell over with surprise!" I exclaim, making Alex giggle. Isaiah is still watching me, mouth open.

"As soon as she opened it, all of the spirits of anger, jealousy, greed, cruelty, sadness, and disease flew out of the box. 'We're free at last!' They said, and flew over the town to possess mankind. Now men started getting sick, began to fight with each other, and be jealous of one another. Zeus's plan to get revenge had worked.

'What have I done?' Pandora asked herself hopelessly. 'I've ruined everything!'"

"'You've forgotten about me,' a little voice piped up. So Pandora looked in the box to see another spirit, talking to her. 'My name is hope,' the spirit chirped. 'Keep me, so that when mankind loses hope, I will always be there.'" I smile at Alex and Isaiah, who are frowning slightly.

"That's the story of how we got hope," I say, not knowing if they'll completely understand. After all, they are only four. It is a fitting story, though to tell on a Reaping day. I know it helped me.

I take my brothers home, humming a little, feeling better after having told a story. I know for certain I want to grow up to be a storyteller. Something about makes me smile; it's like a release from the horrors of this world. It lets me escape for a while.

Once we arrive at my house, there is only half an hour left before the Reaping, so I hurry the boys inside, where my mother takes them and washes grass and dirt off of them. I go upstairs to get changed, my stomach knotting up. Storytelling only released me from the real world for a little while, and now I'm back and faced with the possibility that I could be handed my death sentence in an hour.

In my room, I take a white dress out of the closet. It's a pretty summer dress made of fine material, with no straps. It's been mine sine last year. It leaves this musty old closet once per year, at every Reaping. I will wear it today, and hopefully be able to put it away until next year. I slip it on resignedly and then take a silver brush off of my dresser. I believe it came from the Old World; the intricate designs carved into the metal and the soft bristles suggest it came from a less modern time and place. They say before Panem, thousands of wars and natural disasters ruined the Old World, but a surprising number of things did survive.

I brush out my wavy red hair and pin my long bangs back with a white clip. I then smile weakly into my mirror and try to think of the day positively. However, it doesn't work. It's so unjust. My lips stretch into a pout as I think of the nearly three hundred children that have already died so far as part of the Hunger Games. Will I be one of them? That I don't know. I almost wish I did know my fate; it would be easier than the fear and suspense of not knowing whether or not my name will be drawn from those big foreboding, glass bowls.

"Elliah! Come down, we're going soon," my mother's voice echoes throughout the house. I bite my lip. Last year, I thought the first year was going to be the hardest, the scariest, and the worst of my Reaping experience. I thought that after my first year, I wouldn't have reason to be scared anymore. However, now I realize that my fear will only increase as my name is entered in the large glass reaping bowl more and more.

I don't want to go downstairs. I want to prolong the time before I go to the Reaping Ceremony. Looking around, I notice a rolled up piece of yellowed paper sitting on the chest at the edge of my bed. Curiously, I walk over to it and untie the string that binds it. To my surprise, several pieces of paper fall out of the roll and swirl around the room like leaves in the fall. I pick one up, begin reading my messy writing, and realize that it's an old journal of mine. From last year, before I bought a book to write in. The paper I've picked up just so happens to be from last year. This exact day last year.

_Today is the Reaping. My first one. It does scare me; I know that having my name in the bowl only once will probably not result in me being picked for the Hunger Games. I think I'm allowed to be frightened, though, because there is always a possibility. People associate the number thirteen with bad luck, but will luck be by my side this year? It seems a little strange that my first Reaping would fall on the Thirteenth Hunger Games. Although, thousands of children across Panem are twelve years old and awaiting their first Reaping. Thank goodness District Eleven is one of the larger districts; if we were small like I'm sure some of the other Districts are I would be terrified out of my mind right now. I suppose I am, but I'll just have to pray that Krissi Dane, our escort, doesn't call my name. _

There's a break in the writing, and then it returns.

_Well, I wasn't Reaped. The unlucky person who was is named Ariella Satey. She was a pretty fourteen year old in a purple dress. She looked kind of dazed, and terrified… I guess this was her unlucky year. Although I feel terribly guilty, I'm glad it wasn't me. The boy who was Reaped is named Tommy Dravna. He's my age, so I have some classes with him. He punched Krissi Dane in the face when he got to the stage! I was shocked, but I felt bad. He's twelve as well, so bad luck did find him. I don't put too much stock in such superstitions, but there is certainly luck involved in the Reaping. _

I put down the paper because I can hear my mother's voice calling me again. Damned distraction problems, they're always getting my way. Quickly, I snatch the little silver notebook and a pen-my journal- off my nightstand, because it always makes me feel safer to have around. I walk down the creaking wooden stairs in a resigned way, wishing it was any other day of the year.

"Elliah. You look nice," my mother says with a fake smile, picking Isaiah and Alex up, one in each arm. I know it's a fake smile because there is no reason to smile right now, except maybe for the fact that Alex and Isaiah are being their usual adorable selves. I envy them, the innocent kids who don't understand what most of Panem is about to go through.

I give a nod and a little grimace. "So, dad is coming to watch the ceremony, right? And he's meeting us at home after?" I'm just confirming what I already know, and it's a feeble attempt at a conversation, but it's all I've got.

Unlike our usual conversations, if you can call them that, it's my mother who simply nodding and me who is talking. We walk to the town square in silence, Alex and Isaiah chasing each other around and giggling. It's really a spectacular day out- if we weren't attending such a grave ceremony, I would be enjoying today. A cool summer breeze tickles my face and I can't help smiling giddily, even though my mother looks at me strangely. I think nerves are getting to me.

When we reach the square, my mood changes completely. I can't find it in me to be happy at the moment, knowing there's the chance that I _could _be Reaped. Already teenagers are lining up to check in, letting Peacekeepers prick their fingers and make sure their information is correct before letting them go through. A sudden flash of panic makes my body seize up. Forces me to take a step _away _from the check-in. I felt this same panic last year at my first Reaping, but now it has only doubled as my chances of being Reaped double.

"Go, Elliah. You'll be fine," my mother soothes. Her voice never calms me down. But at least it brings me back to the present. "Just go check in and I'll see you after the Reaping," she urges. I clutch the journal tightly against my chest as I stand in the line, eyes darting around nervously.

"Next," a voice calm voice says smoothly, too soon. I realize with dismay that it's me and step up to the table.

"Elliah Feren," I say, and hold my finger out. I wince slightly when she pricks it, but I've never been particularly afraid of needles. She presses my blood on a little square next to my name, age and birthday, and scans it. My photo comes up on a holographic image and she nods.

"Next."

I hurry away from the table and find the section with the thirteen year old girls. Some talk, other introverts stand quietly like me. I don't really have any friends, not since I was ten and went a little crazy. So I stand alone, watching other girls whisper nervously. After a good ten minutes of me growing steadily more nervous, our mayor, Mr. Cultio, steps up to the podium and taps his microphone. Feedback squeals throughout the town square and everyone's heads whip around to look at him. The mood is solemn; the Reaping has begun. Our one victor, Lili Farrow, sits on a chair beside Krissi Dane, our escort. She appears to have visually altered herself from last year, when her hair was dyed half red, half purple; it's now an emerald green colour and her lips are dyed ice blue to match her eyes. If I'm going to be honest with myself, she looks rather stupid.

"Welcome, District Eleven, to the Reaping ceremony for the Fourteenth annual Hunger Games!" He smiles weakly, knowing that this is not a welcome event. I always tune out the treaty of treason and history of Panem- it's a lot of Propaganda- but this year, I try to listen to the history as if it's a story, just to test myself. "Hundreds of years ago, our world was in chaos. Thousands of natural disasters swallowed our world. However, out of the ashes rose Panem, a nation that protected and cared for its thirteen districts. But it wasn't enough. The districts tried to overthrow the-" he chokes out the next word- "glorious Capitol, but the capital city's strength was too much. They obliterated District Thirteen and defeated the other twelve. And so it was decreed that each year, the twelve districts of Panem shall offer up a tribute, one young man and woman, to be trained in the art of survival, and prepare to fight to the death." I notice, while listening to the story, that they refer to the innocent children as tributes- not people. They become no longer people, but tools in the Capitol's game. Degrading the children, calling them tributes, sacrifices to the nation, and our peace, helps people get around the sheer brutality of innocents killing each other, especially the Capitolites. Words are dangerous, powerful things.

Before I know it, the mayor's speech is ending. Krissi Dane steps up to the podium and trills, "What a pleasure it is to be here today! I know you're all very excited to see who will be representing District Eleven in this year's Hunger Games, so I won't dawdle too much!" She gives a big smile. I don't really understand how she can be so happy about such an awful event.

The two glass bowls have never looked so ominous as Krissi Dane struts over to them and announces, "ladies first!" She digs her hand around, looking for the right piece of paper, and the whole district holds its breath, praying for their daughters, their sisters, themselves, their nieces, their friends, their girlfriends. I close my eyes and let the breeze wash over my face, play with my hair. I let the chirping birds mock me with their freedom. I take in the silence and wait for a name to ring out over the square…

"Elliah Feren!"

It's as if, in that moment, everything I've ever loved and known slips out of my grasp and comes crashing down as breath is sucked out of me. It's as if my dream of growing old and telling stories to eager children literally shatters like the fragile china plate Isaiah dropped this morning. It's as if any hope I have ever had is sucked out of me like the breath every other teenager in the district releases.

"Do we have an Elliah…" Krissi Dane calls out uncertainly. My eyes snap open and I notice several other thirteen year old girls looking at me. Panic freezes me. I can't go up there. I can't.

A girl I don't know nudges me apologetically and I take a step forward. When my foot touches the pavement, I see the plate-my dreams, metaphorically- break over and over again in my mind.

_Back, forth, back forth. Crash, crash, crash, crash Come on, Elliah. One foot in front of the other. _

_. _I slowly step up to the stage and survey the silent crowd. They remember me now, I can tell. They recognize the distinctive red hair and dead crystal blue eyes. But of course, none of them volunteer.

Fear clutches my stomach in a vise-like grip as I stare at my district sadly. Although I feel hopeless, a sudden realization strikes me. I listened through the mayor's entire speech about the history of Panem. I told Alex and Isaiah an entire story without going off track. I don't get so distracted now. Treat these Hunger Games like an enthralling adventure story, and I may have a chance. I may have hope of getting home.

"And, now, we have our boy reaping!" Krissi Dane announces, walking over to the boy's bowl and dipping her hand in.

"Cyrus Ithilien!" She exclaims, and I can't help but release a breath of relief. Cyrus Ithilien is my age. He's a loner like me who slinks around the various alleys of our district, hiding from people. Afraid of them. I don't know much about Cyrus, other than that. He probably doesn't know me.

The boy steps out of the crowd, fear and anger plastered all over his tiny, tanned face. Just like me, he is little, so I suppose I can't call him tiny. He quivers slightly when Krissi asks for volunteers and no one steps up. A shudder runs through me. I know, here and now, both innocent Cyrus and I will meet our deaths in a few weeks' time.

I can't believe this is happening. It still seems like a blurry dream to me.

Through the blur, though, I notice Cyrus extending his arm towards mine. I quickly transfer my notebook into my other hand and shake.

Cyrus Ithilien and I are whisked away into the justice building and I'm shown to a room with plush chairs draped in fancy velvet. My family will come and there will be tearful goodbyes. I'm not looking forward to this. Taking a deep breath in, I raise my shaking hand to push my hair back and then exhale. Inhale, exhale. _Crash, crash. _

The wooden door clicks open and there are my parents and brothers. I sigh and turn my head around to see that my mother has broken down and tears are shining on her cheeks. My father looks frozen and my brothers are confused.

"Time's ticking," A gruff voice calls, and the door closes.

I feel a lump in my throat as my family, the family that thought my mind was gone, the family that never pictured their daughter being Reaped, embraces me. I can't cry, but I'm not good for much else either. I seal my emotions off, send them to the corner of my mind and whisper, "I'll try to come home."

It's all I can say, after all. My face speaks a hundred words right now. If I try to say any more, I will become a complete sobbing wreck. There will be cameras at the train station and I need people to bet on me if I am to see Alex and Isaiah ever again.

Robotically, my father nods and turns around, as if controlled by a puppeteer. He leaves. I don't think I'm wrong when I hear a choked sob and a door slamming. With pursed lips, my mother replies, "try your best."

Then, as if she knows we're all on the verge of tears, she grips Alex and Isaiah firmly by the wrists and pulls them towards the door with her. All hope I have of escaping slips further and further away from me as I feel my eyes widen and let out a tiny, strangled scream.

"Mommy!" I hear the twins' voices. "Where's Elliah going? Mommy?'

I am going to die.

I feel resigned to that fact, and I know it must be true. I'm going to be killed heartlessly. And forgotten.

But, as we're being taken to the train, which will bring me to the Capitol, I get one tiny, glimmering hopeful thought: if last year's tiny, quiet, smart, observant Neon Edison could make it, then so can I. I'm small, observant and somewhat smart, too. I know about plants. I can stay alive, away from the fighting.

Just like Pandora in that ancient myth, I still have hope.

Or rather: I only have hope.

* * *

**Cyrus Ithilien, District Eleven Male**

_**androidilenya**_

* * *

Sunlight slants through my bedroom window, illuminating the floating motes of dust so they seem to be drifting flecks of gold. The house is silent, save my own quiet breathing and the soft thud of my blood through my veins. Both of my parents are taking advantage of the day off and sleeping in, leaving me alone.

That's how I like it.

My right hand curls around the slim stick of wood as I blow the newly sharpened tip of the pencil, scattering a bit of dark graphite powder onto my paper, like dark stars on a white sky. I shake the paper, dispelling the flecks of lead without leaving a mark on the soft whiteness. Real paper, unused on both sides, is something I have to search long and hard for. Sometimes I end up doing chores at the school to get the scraps they have leftover from lessons.

I press the tip down, savoring the way it slides over the paper with a soft whisper. The first line summons the shadows. Just as the pencil scratches along the edge in the faintest suggestion of a mark, they wrap around the windowsill, peering in. I look up.

"Go away," I whisper harshly, feeling the words stick in my throat.

The light coming in through the window is slowly blotted out as the shadows rise, swirling through the air like some dark wave on an ocean I have never seen. I close my eyes, trying to will them away. Sometimes this works. Most of the time it doesn't.

I open my eyes to total blackness. The shadows are everywhere now, pressing in on me, clinging to my skin in a damp mist. I open my mouth to shriek and feel them slide down my throat, into my lungs, filling them with the dank scent of decay. I'm buried alive, I'm dead, there's no escape-

"Alari!" I gasp, struggling to breathe.

A pinprick of light in the darkness. A golden glow, like the moon in the autumn, at harvest time. I breath a sigh of relief, and the air is now tinged with the scents of spring, the dark smell of death replaced with rain and light and budding leaves. Her scent.

My little sister always saves me. Ironic, seeing as I was unable to save her.

I slump back in my chair, brushing my black hair out of my eyes and shaking a bit. That was worse than usual. Probably triggered by my fear today- today being what it is, that actually makes sense, unlike most everything else about this situation. Like, you know, the animated shadows trying to kill me.

A stinging sensation in my palm alerts me to the fact that I'm clutching my pencil hard enough to drive the tip through my skin, drawing blood. I let the pencil fall onto the desk, spattering the paper with a few drops of bright red. Pushing my chair back from the desk, I stand up and stretch. I don't think I'll try drawing anything more today. Tomorrow, maybe.

Assuming I don't get Reaped today, of course.

This is my second Reaping. I was terrified last year, as every twelve year old is on their first year. They're always so sure that this will be the year that a poor, innocent twelve year old will be Reaped, that that kid will be them. It almost never is, and once you've gotten through that you're safe in the logical assumption that the chances of you getting picked to die are very, very small.

My name's in the usual two times for a thirteen year old, plus nine or ten more for tesserae. Not that that much increases my chances of getting Reaped. Almost every kid in my neighborhood has twice or three times that amount. It's a given that as soon as you turn twelve you apply for the extra food as a way of supporting your family. I'm lucky I'm an only child, as that means that there are fewer mouths to feed in my family.

I tentatively turn the handle and open my door. The hallway is carpeted in gold and blue stars, crystals of silver falling from the black sky-ceiling above. Not bad. It's better than the floor of opens sky I got last week, where I was afraid to step out of my door because of the long, vertiginous drop that faced me.

Mother and Father think these visions stopped a long time ago. They think they were never anything but the attention-seeking lies of a child, something to be tolerated at best, ignored most of the time.

And for a time, they did go away. Until Alari.

Miscarriages are commonplace in the poverty-ridden streets of District Eleven. There is no such thing as maternity leave for women in the orchards of the agricultural district. My mother was forced to work until the very day her contractions began with both me and her second child. It was a miracle that I survived.

There was no such miracle for Alari. My mother was in labor for four hours- four hours of screams and blood and me cowering behind the door, hands over my ears and knees drawn up to my chest, sobbing with fear as the midwife screamed and slapped and cajoled my little sister into the world.

She lived for one hour. Not even long enough for my parents to name her.

I named her. They buried her. We never spoke of her again. Thus is the way of life in District Eleven.

My mother can't have children anymore. I doubt that she would want to, after that. And my nights became filled with darkness, blood, screams- parody of childbirth, death where there should have been life.

But who would want to be born into a world as unfair as this, anyways?

Alari never left me. She's been my companion ever since the day they laid her in the ground, a tiny bundle of white cloth in a cheap, hastily built coffin of twisted planks. A light against the darkness.

The visions started again soon after. I'm quite used to them now. Most of the time they're fairly innocent- rain falling where there is none, floating lanterns and silvery figures of glass that move with soft tinkles. But then there's the shadows, the ones I still can't escape. The shadows that smell like her grave.

I suppose one might call what I see 'hallucinations'. I prefer to think of them as what's on the other side. Alari's here, with me. So maybe that's what lies after death. Maybe when I die I will be able to watch over someone, fight the darkness for them.

It's a comforting thought.

* * *

The streets are mainly deserted. A few hungover men still lurch their way home after a night in District Eleven's bars, sure to face a tongue lashing when they return to their waiting wives. Some children are already out playing in the streets, dusty bodies and dirty clothes nearly blending in with the dirt paths.

I avoid their eyes. I know they're watching me. They're always watching me, just like the shadows are always following me, just like Alari.

I know they all hate me. I just know it. They think I'm a weirdo, they think I'm insane- and while they might be right, I'm weird, I refuse to believe that I am insane. I see the truth, they see only darkness.

Hurrying up the lane, I head towards the orchards. It's the one place I know will be empty today, on Reaping Day. Everyone has a day off, why would they want to go back to where they work on a day like this?

My shirt is already sticking to my tan skin with sweat. The sun's nearing its zenith, and it's promising to be a very hot day. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and it comes away damp with perspiration. My tan skin is a sharp contrast to the dingy white shirt I wear, the one that's still a little loose on my thin frame even though it's one of the smallest I own.

The world shifts without warning, as it always does before one of my visions. And now I'm walking through a forest, carpeted in moss and surrounded with branches hanging with vines. It's green and damp and filled with forest sounds, like the ones in the old films they sometimes show about the rainforests. As someone who's never been into an actual forest in his life, that's all the experience my subconscious has to draw on.

I've stopped dead in the path, disoriented. Setting changes like this happen all the time, and I learned the hard way that if the landscape in the vision doesn't necessarily conform to the actual landscape in the real world. Walking right now could result in my smacking into a wall or something.

I know I'm standing in the middle of a street in broad daylight, and I know that the people that are out and about are staring at me right now. Whispering to each other about that weird boy, that one that no one likes. I know that they talk about me. I know it. I'm not some paranoid freak. I _know_. It's the truth, and therefore it's not all in my mind. Right?

"Young man?" A hand descending on my shoulder jolts me out of the vision. I crash back to reality to find myself face to face with an old, haggard woman. She has dark, walnut-brown skin that's so wrinkled you can barely see her gleaming black eyes. She squints up at me, a look of concern on her face.

I slap her hand away and step back, not quite scurrying away. She knows, just like the rest of them. She's only pretending to be nice, she's just trying to lure me in so she can drag me of somewhere and put me in a mental hospital or just kill me to save District Eleven the expense...

Some rational part of my mind points out that this is needlessly paranoid, that this little old lady probably means no harm. But I've never listened to my voice of reason.

I turn and dash up the street, ignoring her hoarse cries from behind. Let her yell. She'll never catch me.

* * *

The orchard is, in fact, empty. Something to be glad of. I slump next to a taller tree, curling up in its shade. Already the day promises to be a hotter one than it already is. Back in my house, my parents must be roasting. But that always happens in the summertime. We burn in the summer and freeze in the winter.

I've heard that in the Capitol and the richer Districts, there's something called 'air conditioning'. I think even the mayor of District Eleven might have it. The idea of being able to control the weather, even in a small area like your own house... that's something I'd love to be able to do.

"Cyrus?" A softly familiar voice drifts down from the branches of a nearby tree. I turn my head, a smile breaking across my face even as I force down a touch of guilt. Brown eyes meet mine- the same color as Alari's, the same color as mine.

"Come on out, Dryad."

A tiny brown figure slides down a tree branch and lands in a crouch next to me, a smile on her face. "I was waiting for you. I knew you'd come," the seven year old proclaims, sitting herself cross-legged on the ground next to me.

"Did you, now?" Dryad is the only person here I can talk to. It's not just that she's about the same age Alari would be if she had lived. It's not just that she's an innocent little girl.

"Yeah. Mom's still asleep. And Ty was talking to me again." She regards me with a serious expression and a light in her eyes that's too mature for a seven-year-old to have. "How are your shadows?"

And that's why I can talk to her. I have my shadows, she has her voices. We're both insane according to the standards of District Eleven.

"Present and accounted for," I say, grinning down at her. She's the only one here that I don't mistrust. How could I afford to, being who I am? Besides. If Alari had lived, this might have been one of her friends. You never know. Even if Dryad has voices in her head, she's a very likable little girl.

"Ty said that Mom hates me. That's why she's always out at night and always brings strange men home."

"That's not true. She loves you, Dryad." What I can't exactly tell a child is what everyone else in District Eleven knows- Dryad's mother is the village prostitute. She'll sleep with any man or boy for a price. And while that's hardly the best way to live, I know that every cent she makes goes towards supporting this little girl right here. So in the end, it evens out.

"Then why is she never home?" Dryad asks with the self-centered innocence of a little kid.

"She's working hard so she can take care of you," I reply, tangling my hands in the long grass that grows beneath the orchard trees. This kind of kindness is out of character for me. I don't usually have the patience to deal with other people, especially when I know that they're all out to get me. But there's something about the little girl with the voices in her head that draws me back to her, time and again.

She doesn't reply. There's a few minutes of silence, the two of us just sitting there under the tree, lit with shifting sunlight through the branches of the tree that arches overhead. I glance at her. The light's playing over her face, and she has that withdrawn look that I associate with her voices. I wonder which ones she's talking to right now.

Dryad finally looks up at me. "Rilla says today's Reaping Day."

"Yes. It is." I still don't know how many of them there are in Dryad's little head. Maybe her voices are another expression of the dead, just like my visions. Maybe Alari's lights are like her voices: here to protect us.

"That's when people get picked to die, right?"

The harsh, bitter words coming from the mouth of someone as small as her shock me. That's not something any kid should have to know about. Death isn't something that a kid should grow up on familiar terms with. But here in Panem, who can escape death? It's televised annually. It's something people get used to. I can't remember not knowing about the Hunger Games, though my parents do.

"Will you get picked?" she presses, looking worried.

"Probably not. The chances are pretty low. I mean, there's a ton of kids here in District Eleven. And I'm just one of them." I'm trying to be reassuring, but I don't have much practice with this kind of thing. The only real conversations I ever have are with her.

She stands, a troubled look on her face. "Come and visit me after the Reaping, okay, Cyrus?"

"Okay." _If I'm not Reaped,_ I add silently.

She skips off, a slim wood-colored wraith that almost blends into the surrounding bracken. I can see why her mother named her what she did. Wood nymph. It suits Dryad very well.

We first met two years ago. It was raining- for real, not in my head, as sometimes happens. That's fairly interesting, as I'm the only one getting wet. And I'm the only one in danger of getting struck by lightning and dying.

Anyways. Dryad approached me first. That's hardly anything extraordinary, as I never approach anyone, ever. But there was something odd about the girl with the bright eyes that made me pause, made me actually stop and let her talk to me. Maybe it was the _knowing_ that I saw in those eyes. The light that said, I know who you are. I know your pain and I share it.

That's not a look you see in a normal kid's eyes.

It's because of her voices that she knows so much more than any other kid would about mostly everything. She's mentioned at least five. Apparently Ty is her favorite. Ty's a boy about her age, with a wicked sense of humor and a penchant for getting into trouble. I've received stinging insults from him through her on multiple occasions.

Then there's Rilla, the mother figure that Dryad's mom isn't ever around to be. She (Rilla, not the mom) seems to be caring, kind, comforting... in short, everything a kid like Dryad needs.

I'm glad she has her voices. It means that if something ever happened to me, she'd still have friends.

I lean back against the tree, letting the bark dig into the back of my head. I look up into the burning white sun, then close my eyes, savoring the explosions of red and blue against my retinas. The warmth on my skin feels good after so much cold air. Lately it's been snowing in my house.

* * *

The air is filled with the soft sounds of chattering kids. A lot of them look understandably nervous. And then there's those who attempt to hide their fear by being especially loud and obnoxious, yelling and horsing around with wild abandon as if to showcase how much they don't care.

I hold my hand out for the Peacekeeper and wince as he jabs my finger with the needle and roughly smears it across the check-in page. He's definitely being overly aggressive with me. Even the Peacekeepers think I'm crazy. I just know it.

The other thirteen year old boys don't meet my eyes as I join them in silence. Anyone else might think it was just because I don't make much of an effort to make friends, but I know better. They're just like the rest. They think I'm crazy.

Little stars float over the heads of the crowd. No one else notices as I reach up and grasp one, pulling it closer. Its warmth pulses against my palm like a miniature heart, light beams streaming from my fingers. For an instant I'm an angel, all power in my hands, the light streaming from me like the heavenly rays in the old songs my mother sang me to sleep with as a child.

She stopped singing to me after Alari.

This thought dispels the light in my palm, though the ones up above are still there. Too far for me to reach, but there nonetheless. Just like Alari.

A burst of static from the microphone makes me look up. The mayor stands at the podium, next to the only Victor of District Eleven: Lili Farrow. And sitting next to her is the emerald-haired woman that is our Escort.

Krissi Dane has always disgusted me. I know that Capitolites are vain, twisted creatures. All I needed for that conclusion was the footage from past Hunger Games. But Krissi seems to be the very embodiment of vanity- her hair, which last year was dyed red and purple, is a deeper green than the grass in the orchards. An unnatural shade. And her lips are a cold ice-blue, matching her eyes.

It looks like she froze to death with grass growing out of her scalp.

"Welcome, District Eleven, to the Reaping ceremony for the fourteenth annual Hunger Games!" Mayor Cultio doesn't seem very happy to be here, though I'm sure he's putting on a good show for the cameras. The worry and pain on his face is reflected in the faces of the waiting children. Who will die this year?

They play the same movie they always do, about the rebellion, about the Hunger Games. Sometimes I wonder why they even bother. By the time they're eighteen, most kids can spew it back word for word, but that doesn't mean they believe a word of it. That drivel might work on some of the other districts, but District Eleven, whatever else it might be, is too tough for that.

Krissi steps up after the video. "What a pleasure it is to be here today! I know you're all very excited to see who will be representing District Eleven in this year's Hunger Games, so I won't dawdle too much!" Her smile is wide as she says these words, as if she is mocking our pain. I don't know how someone could be so excited about the death of children.

She reaches into the first bowl and I glance over at the girl's side. Their scared faces are so at odds with their festive dresses.

"Elliah Feren!"

Silence. No one comes up. Now a ripple runs through the crowd as they turn, searching for this girl.

"Do we have an Elliah...?" Krissi looks uncertain for the first time.

A girl from the thirteen-year-old section stumbles up, a terrified look on her face. I feel a stab of pity for her.

Krissi reaches into the boy's bowl. "Cyrus Ithilien!"

That's my name. She just called my name. I'm going into the arena.

My first thought is one of anger and betrayal. I knew that the people of District Eleven hated me, I know they think I'm crazy, but condemning me to death like this? That's above and beyond their usual cruel sideways glances.

I won't give them the benefit of seeing my fear. They're too far beneath me for me to give them that. So I force my face into a stone mask and walk up, suddenly hyper-aware of how my feet scuff the earth, how the smell of my own sweat fills my nostrils.

I join Elliah onstage, seeing the fear that's still so obvious in her eyes. We shake hands on the Escort's command, and hers is cold with fear.

I wonder how long the two of us will last. A terrified little girl and a hallucinating boy. Somehow I doubt that District Eleven will have a Victor this year.

* * *

"Cyrus."

I look up, almost blinded by the light streaming in through the door. The glowing lights have followed Dryad in, congregating behind her and backlighting her so she's barely even visible as a silhouette against their overwhelming brilliance.

"You said you wouldn't get Reaped," she accuses, sinking into the chair across from me. I run my finger along the smooth wood of the chair arm, tracing the elaborate carvings. I can't even look at her.

"It's hardly something I can control," I mutter. I won't tell her that I think they rigged it because they want to rid District Eleven of a lunatic. That's not something she's going to want to hear right now.

She stares at me for a few seconds as if trying to memorize my face. "You can't leave me," she finally says. "You're my only friend."

The harsh truth coming from her little mouth startles me. "You have Ty and the others."

"They're not real." She says this bitterly. "They aren't actual people. Not like you."

Acting on a half-formed impulse, I reach forward and wrap her in a hug. She tenses, then relaxes against me.

"Come back, Cyrus," she whispers into my shirt. I bite my lip and nod.

"I'll try my best."

She pulls away and rummages in her pocket for something. Her hand emerges clutching a folded piece of paper that looks very familiar. Unfolding it, she reveals a pencil drawing of her face. A drawing that I made for her a few months ago, for her seventh birthday. It was the only gift she got that day.

"Dryad..."

"Take it." She shoves it into my hands. Now she's the one that won't meet my gaze. "So you'll remember me."

I carefully lift the smudged paper from her hands and refold it, tucking it into my shirt pocket. "I would never forget you, Dryad." And it's the truth. She's so much like the sister I never could have. If Alari wasn't in that grave, she might be this girl standing on front of me, tears bright in her dark brown eyes as she says goodbye to me.

She nods and turns to leave, then hesitates. She turns back suddenly and embraces me, nestling her little face in my shoulder. Then without another word she's gone, taking the floating lights with her.

I sit back, suddenly drained. It's starting to sink in now. I'm going into the arena. And even if I try as hard as I can for Dryad, chances are I'm never coming home.

Rain starts to fall from the ceiling. I look up and let it fall onto my face, the cold a pleasant shock on my flushed skin.

It'll be okay. Alari's with me. And when I die, she'll be there waiting for me, hands outstretched in welcome.

* * *

**androidilenya A/N- Hope you liked it!**


	13. District Twelve Reapings

**A/N- **The last reaping! As much as I love to see the tributes the real fun really begins with the Capitol Chapters! Those new to 24 author collaborations, what happens after this reapings is each tribute gets a Capitol Chapter and then the Games begin. But for now enjoy District 12! :D

* * *

**Sparrow Adair, District Twelve Female**

_**lala1366**_

* * *

"No. No, no, no. I can't do it!" Her wails fill the silence of the early morning; she is probably going to wake the entire freaking district.

"Adoette!" I snap, "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"I'm not doing it," She replies, matter-of-factly.

I smack my forehead with the palm of my scarred hand and groan in frustration. She is just making this more painful for all of us.

I then hear the faded screen door creak open behind us and shout comes from inside, "What in Pete's sake is going on out here? Do you realize it's Reaping Day or are you trying to get shot by a peacekeeper, because your incessant howling is going to draw some attention!" That's Channing, my 17-year-old big brother. I don't turn around, but I can just picture him standing there in his pajamas- an old t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and his boxers, basking in his glory of buffness. That boy loves to show off his muscles every chance he gets. A smile plays on my lips as I remember him back when we lived at the community home, I think more than once he was caught in the girls' wing wearing nothing but his underwear and dancing around. Ah, what a charmer I have for a brother. Now he is fully aware of his "sexiness," or at least as close to "sexiness" as us here in the Seam of District 12 can get. Sure, I've never actually been outside of the fences of our little district, but I'm not ignorant. I've seen the people of richer districts on TV and let me tell you those District 4 boys…damn. Not like I really have time or energy to care about boys, but hey, I'm a girl and I have eyes.

"This is a huge milestone in life, over here," I call back to my dirty blonde haired brother and I could just picture him rolling those gray-blue eyes identical to the rest of our family. He's done this thousands of times, I have too. Adoette is twelve now, it's about time she face life. I turn my attention back to the issue in front of me- a thrashing, dying chicken. We heard the squabbling earlier this morning and by the time we got to the coop, chickens had already been killed, maimed, or escaped. A wild animal had gotten through the wire and attacked the coop. After dealing with the cleanup and spending a full twenty minutes swearing and kicking things in anger- this was not going to be cheap to fix, I had found this one about 200 meters away from the rest and decided it would be a good time to give Adoette a life lesson. She likes to think she is crazy and tough, but really she's just an innocent. Maybe Stone took her out of the community home before she could be corrupted like the rest of us or maybe it's just the way she is, but either way one shouldn't get too trusting of her.

"Well would one of you please just kill it before it dies of blood loss on its own?" He asks impatiently. I look over to my twelve-year-old sister who just throws the knife down in defiance. I sigh. Today is the first day she is eligible to be reaped in the Hunger Games and let's just say she doesn't have the luxury of only having her name in there once. Maybe if I was emotional and sympathetic I would never let her take out any tesserae, but she has to face reality. There are six of us living off this little farm here and Stone's minimum wages from working in the mines. And maybe if she was more rational and emotional, she would be crying about the possibility of her impending death, not the one of this already dying chicken.

"You know what? Fine." I growl, picking up the knife with my rough hands, "But I hope if your name is read by that devil-eyed grandma you somehow better find it in you to kill another kid, seeing as you can't finish off a freaking chicken." With that, I stride past her and plunge the weapon right into its heart.

* * *

Later that morning, I am standing in the boys' room, waking up Fisk with a hard shove. "Get up kid." I say playfully and hear a moan coming from under the off-white quilt. I begin to cross the small room occupied by my brothers and out of instinct, pick up their clothes strewn across the place. "Boys." I mutter to myself and roll my eyes. Complete slobs they all are. As I throw Channing's blanket over his bed, I look over at the lump of blankets that is my 14-year-old brother. A grin spreads upon my face as I creep over to his bed and launch myself on top of him. I hear a yelp of surprise.

"Sparrow!" He cries out, "Get off me! I'm freaking fourteen years old!" I just laugh. Although I am only a year older than him, I feel so much older. To me, he is still my baby brother, which sounds ridiculous, I know. But still. Ask anyone and he's clearly the favorite of our motley crew. Channing and I are the tough defiant smart-asses, Adoette is the loud crazy spitfire, and Fisk is the smart polite one that actually can function in society.

I rip the blanket off him and he swats at me. This means war. I grab his wrists, pinning him down; my knees are on his outstretched arms in one fluid motion. I grin evilly at the dark haired boy. My gaze flickers over to his hands, I am confident that he is going to turn out okay because of his hands. They are clean and almost scratch free. He does have Band-Aids on six out of ten of his fingers because he burned them the other day, and a few old scars, but nothing like mine. A person's hands represent their heart, that's my theory. No matter what anyone, especially Stash, says, it's true. Fisk has a good heart, I know it. As for me, well I'll talk about that later.

Our gray-blue eyes make contact and then his face mirrors mine in a knowing grin. I know he is up to something. Then before I can react, he spits in my face. I let him go and yelp back in surprise. His saliva is in my eye. Oh, he is going to get it now. As he is sitting up, I lunge back and we both land on the cold wooden floor, laughing hysterically. Our family loves to play fight and we get pretty serious about it. As I sit on top of him, cracking up, I hear footsteps down the hall and snap my head up, getting off my brother. Stone is standing in the doorframe, looking at us, his arms awkwardly crossed. Beside me, Fisk freezes and I can see a smile force itself on his face out of the corner of my eye. I don't bother with the theatrics.

"Hey," He mutters gruffly, "I was just coming to wake Fisk up. It's Reaping Day." His voice tapers off at the end. _No shit Buddy. _

"Well, it's okay Stone, I already did," I stand up and brush past him into the hallway, "I'll go make breakfast." As I begin to walk down the hall, I ask, "Did you give Basil a bath yet?" Silence. That's what I thought.

I hear him sigh, "It's been three years. I've had you guys back, Honey. How many times do I have to tell you I'm sorry? I know I was stupid and I missed nine years of you kids' life. It's taking me a while to adjust here. You know I've got the farm and the day job, and now a third job taking care of you kids-"

"Then don't do it. Leave it to me and just stop trying. This is my job, just as it has been for my entire life. We appreciate you taking us in and everything-we really do, but we don't _need _you, especially me." I meet his gaze evenly. He needs to learn that he's never getting those years back no matter how much he wants; he's never getting us back. Not really, anyway. We can pretend all day if we want, but at the end of the day, when nobody's looking, the truth is out and we will never be truly okay with each other.

"But Sparrow, give me a chance. I'm your _dad._"

"Okay, well guess what Daddy? I did give you a chance. Eleven years ago."

He looks at me with those gray-blue eyes that my siblings and I share. I don't get mad at him for making a mistake when he was young. Channing, Fisk, Adoette, and I are all mistakes. We know that. Our parents were twenty when Channing was born and after Adoette was born, it became too much and we were placed in the community home. When I was twelve, Stone found us again and adopted us out. We've been living with him ever since. He's been good to us, gave us a home, food most of the time, and a somewhat stable environment. He's trying too hard to be a single dad, when really he doesn't know how to be a grown up. I get that, but I wish he would just leave us alone sometimes. We know how to take care of ourselves and survived the community home of District 12. I don't get why he doesn't understand that because he still tries to be all lovey-dovey when clearly we don't want it. Well, Adoette likes it I think and Fisk is too nice to tell him off. Not Channing and I, though.

Channing walks up behind me, "What's up Sparrow?" He asks and I find myself leaning back, my head and back leaning into his muscular frame. Channing backs me up every time.

"Nothing" I say cheerily, my siblings and Stash, who might as well be my brother, are the only people in the world who can make my mood so much better just with their presence. I turn around to face him, "Come on, let us go make some waffles!" I grin and point my arm to the direction of the kitchen. "Let's go kid!" I gesture Fisk over and he jumps up and flies out of the room to my open arm. I fling it around his shoulder and the three of us walk to the kitchen, forgetting all about the man standing there pretending he loves us. It's a sad game he plays with himself, but we are too smart to fall for that crap. I've trained them well.

* * *

I dance around the small kitchen, my socks sliding around the wooden floor. I laugh as my brother rolls his eyes at me from the stove. I get a running start and glide from the refrigerator to where Basil's high chair was positioned next to the table. She grins at me with the few teeth she has and her blue gray eyes flash in excitement as I bring over a container of mushy baby food that she loves. Basil is my half-sister. We have the same dad, but different moms. Her mom was Stone's girlfriend for a while and she even lived here with us, but she was a little crazy and unpredictable. Stone was crazy for her and they would spend many nights out until the early morning. I'm not complaining or anything, I like it that way because I've just been in charge my entire life, and she was fun to hang around with. When she got pregnant, there were a lot of complications and it wasn't like we could afford good health care for her. We took her to the Hob, where an old semi-trained doctor hung out, when she went into early labor, but the conditions there were so bad and she got an infection. She died days later, but thankfully Basil is still alive and pretty healthy and happy.

"Open." I command her, "Here comes your breakfast. Mmmmm, what do we have here, mushy bananas and apples in water? Yummy!" I grimace as she opens her mouth wide. "That's gross." I snort and she giggles. I finish helping her eat before giving her a bath and then sitting down at breakfast with my family. We try to make Reaping Day as normal as possible around here, we aren't into that crying mushy stuff.

I plop down in a chair next to Adoette, still in her pajamas and her long, light brown hair in a messy ponytail, already shoving food in her mouth. I do a quick inspection of my siblings. Across from me, Channing and Fisk are play punching each other as Channing grabs his younger brother's dark-haired head and gives it a hard rub. My eyes drift to Basil in her high chair, a teething ring in her mouth. Nobody really notices as Stone walks into the room and sees the breakfast we made sitting on the kitchen table. He slowly makes his way over and sits at the head of the table. I raise an eyebrow as he nods at me in approval. I just shrug it off and join my siblings in breakfast chaos.

* * *

I stand out back in my garden. I take care of it and I mostly grow herbs, but there are flowers here and there. We all help out on Stone's little farm with the chickens, goats, horses, and vegetables. There's even a black and white dog we keep around here named Rudy that comes and goes as he pleases. The hours have been slowly slipping away this morning ever since the chicken incident. We start our days early around here. I now stand in my Reaping clothes, the one time a year you will ever catch me in a dress. Ever. I still haven't put my shoes on, I just might not. There is no feeling like the cool soil beneath bare feet, seeping between your toes on a warm summer day. A breeze blows my normally wild, wavy, but now under control hair around. I see brown with natural blonde highlights in front of my face. The edges of my white, lacey dress tugging in the wind. Then I look down at my hands in front of me. They are so ugly, I can't stand it. My nails are short and hands covered in permanent scars, bruises, burns, and even dirt although I washed up earlier. I've seen and done things at that horrible place I grew up in that I'd rather not face and now my heart looks just like that.

I have no memory of my mother. No pictures, keepsakes, or sentiments. She was done with us when she sent us away and probably hasn't thought about us since. Not having a mother isn't what separates me from many other kids here in District 12. It's the fact that I simply don't care about her at all. I've never asked Stone to tell me about her, never had dreams about her hugging me or fantasies about whether I look like her or not. I've never even asked Stone her name and he's never told me. She gave me up because she didn't love me. I'm not going to waste my time thinking about someone who never thinks about me. I don't need her. I'm strong enough. Or at least that's what I tell myself when I get up every morning. I am strong and capable of taking care of these children. I am, right?

I hate these times the most, when I am alone. I need to be busy, surrounded by noise and distractions. I always need to be under some sort of stress and worry to function. It's almost like I need to be needed. But letting that show means showing weakness, right? I am not weak. Being alone brings out the emotional side of me-the side I hate the most. Before I can dwell on my thoughts and feelings for too long, I hear footsteps treading over the grass behind me. I perk up and twirl around to face my company. I hear a whistle and roll my eyes. Sure enough, up comes Stash Reeder. Although he has his own family now, he still likes to walk with us to the Reaping where he meets his parents there.

Stash and I go way back. I've known him for as long as I can remember back at the community home. He's the same age as me, but my whole family is good friends with him. He's a true Seam kid with his olive skin, gray eyes, and dark hair, so although he knows nothing about his past, he knows he came from the Seam, like me. He was adopted about a year after my brothers and I to a nice couple who couldn't have children of their own. The day the both of us were free from that community home was the best of our lives. He loves his new parents, really, and I couldn't be any happier for him. Today, he wore kakis and a white button-down shirt. I hated that we all had to get dressed up for our deaths.

"Hey Stash." I smiled, regaining my dignity.

"Sup, Adair?" He asked, giving a cocky smile. Between him and Channing, I don't think there is enough room in the district for their heads.

"Ready for this shit show?" I asked, knowing everyone was going to be crying and freaking out at the Justice Building.

"As ready as I'll ever be." He sighed, "Its Adoette's first reaping."

"I know." I replied. Way to state the obvious Stash.

"Is she nervous?" He asked with concern in his voice.

"No." I replied.

"Are you?"

"No." This is life. Being worried about something you have absolutely no control over is just a waste of time and energy. Stash feels the worried vibe, well masked, that surrounds the whole house, though. He knows and gets us so well. He's smart and just nods.

People pile out of the little white house with the broken shutters, all smiling when they see Stash has joined us. I'm proud of my siblings who show no fear for life. I look at Stone and see his eyebrows are scrunched up like every year on this day. I don't get it. He had no problem losing us back when I was three, but now he's actually concerned. Well, it doesn't bother me. He can feel however he wants, but it is not going to affect the outcome of today and it's not going to affect me. Stash holds out his arm and I lock mine in with his. "Happy Hunger Games." He says.

"Yes," I reply, "Happy Flippin Hunger Games." And with that we take off to the Justice Building.

* * *

We all walk through the district, the standards of living getting nicer and nicer was we approach the Justice Building. I take a minute to glance over at all the empty houses over in Victor's Village. After thirteen years nobody from Twelve has ever won. I wonder how long it will be until someone finally wins. Stash and I take the lead, joking and laughing as we go. We mostly make fun of the prim and proper merchant families with their crying blue-eyed children and fretting pretty parents. Just behind us, Adoette chatters away to Channing who, by the amount of input he has in the conversation, isn't listening. Fisk walks behind them next to Stone who has baby Basil in his arms. They are quiet as they walk. We continue to the Justice Building and I stand in line with Adoette as we wait to get our fingers pricked. I know she is putting on a tough face because I can hear her shuffling and playing with her fingers behind me. Channing and Fisk are in the line next to me looking incredibly bored and I have to chuckle to myself. In the line on the other side of me a little blonde girl the same age as Adoette is crying uncontrollably and her older sister, who looks like a bigger version of her, is holding her tight and whispering encouragements to her. I proudly glance over at my own sister.

"Psst." I smile at her, "You're gonna be okay. You've seen things half of these kids could never even have a nightmare about. What's a little more violence and blood?" I wink. She just rolls her eyes and walks past me to the check-in table where I had been preoccupied and missed my turn. I am supposed to be more attentive than to miss that, I mentally scold myself. After they prick her, I stick my finger out and with a little pinch, I am checked in. On the other side, I meet up with the boys before going to my own section. "See you guys after at the check-in table." I order as they all nod in agreement. Then, I send Adoette off and make my way to my own section. I stand next to some girls I know from school and we comfort each other with tiny smiles as we wait. Then, our mayor comes out and walks over to the podium. He is a chubby man who most people envy because he looks overweight while about ninety percent of our district is starving to death, but he is kind nonetheless and people accept him.

He sadly begins to read the Treaty of Treason; the emotions etched finely on his face represent the feelings of District 12 about the Hunger Games. We all hate them with such a bitter anger imprinted deep into our bones ever since we are born. As he reads about our history, I scan the crowd for my siblings and Stash. The first one I spot is Fisk. His dark hair is combed and he is wearing a bow tie which makes me smile. He is just so funny and cute. I watch his movements as he watches everything going on onstage with a stone cold face and eyes searching for trouble. As my eyes follow back, I spot Stash with happiness in the row across from mine. I stare at his tight jaw and deep gray eyes as his dark hair blows in the slight summer wind. I send him telepathic messages, praying hard he will just look at me so I will get some comfort of seeing his strong face. _Come on, Stash. Look over here!_

"And now, time to pick our tributes for the fourteenth Hunger Games." I snap my head up and away from my friend as our escort, Zylvia DiMarco, hobbles over the glass bowl containing all the girls' names in the District. Most, like mine, are in there too many times to remember. She is a very old woman with white hair and pale skin. What unnerves me the most about her, though, is her dark red eyes, starring into us like the devil. Why in Panem she would ever have such hideous eyes is beyond me. I hold my breath as she reaches a skinny hand deep into the bowl and grabs one out. I quickly steal a glance back at Stash, but he still won't look over. I suck in even more air as she unfolds the paper with her shaking, wrinkly hands. _Hurry up, woman. _

Finally she opens her mouth and calls out the name, "Sparrow Adair." I don't know what to do so naturally, I look over at Stash who is now staring at me in complete shock. Everyone is staring at me. People are backing away to let me go up to the stage. Peacekeepers are beginning to come over. In the distance I hear a piercing cry that probably belongs to Adoette.

I snap back to myself quickly and violently. With a slight shake of my head, I march up to the stage, at a brisk, yet controlled un-panicky pace. Ahead, Zylvia waits for me. All around me, the sad eyes of all the other kids in the district are following my every move, but there is only one pair of eyes I care about now. It's the devil locked in a stare down with me.

As I pass the twelve-year-old section, I see Adoette come sprinting over and suddenly she is clinging to me. I am about to give in and hug her back when my brothers and Stash all come running over to tackle the crazy girl and let me go. I want to cry so bad as well, to be held and repressed from the stage like that, but I can't. Because it was my name that was called up, not hers. I look into the boys' eyes and I know there is nothing to say right now, so all I can do is shake my head and continue my journey up to the stage. When I get up there, Zylvia grabs my hand and walks me over to the center of the stage. I give her my best death glare as she opens her mouth to say something, but then closes it and begins to conduct the boys' reaping. I am left standing there wondering who my unfortunate partner will be.

Not before long, a boy named Loken Farris is next to me and we are shaking hands. Unfortunately for him, mine are utterly disgusting and frightening. Poor boy. We are ushered to separate rooms where we are only given minutes to say good-bye to our friends and family.

* * *

I stand-no scratch that- pace in a beautiful room with a crystal chandelier and velvet furniture as well as the finest decorations that could have come straight from the Capital. I had no idea this even existed in our district. I briefly wonder about all the people who have been in this room and what these walls have seen. I don't have too much time for myself, though, because Adoette comes bursting through the door followed by a distraught Channing, Fisk, Stone, and Basil. I look for Stash, but family is first, I guess. Adoette come crashing in a fluttering heap in my arms, her once pretty dress all tear stained and wrinkly. I almost cry too. Almost. I am too strong to cry in front of others. I've trained myself to be better than that.

"Hey, stop." I demand her as I hug her and Fisk comes into my grasp as well. "Do you guys have no faith in me?" I ask with a forced smile. "Let them bring on their arenas and mutts. I can handle it. I do know how to fight, you know." I then look up at Channing who gives back a sad, knowing stare.

Then, I get an idea. "Hey, do you guys remember back at the community home at bedtime, when we used to have one minute to stop talking after lights went out before they checked our rooms?" I ask and Adoette nods as the boys look confused. "I used to make up 1 minute short stories that ended right before the door opened and they heard us. Here, I'll tell you one now. Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in District 12 in the country of Panem. She was reaped for this horrible thing called the Hunger Games in which 24 children had to fight to the death every year. She didn't want to do that, though, so she started a rebellion during the chariot rides that happen every year and all the kids jumped off their chariots and ran into the crowds and she walked right up to the president and made him be in the Hunger Games along with every person who supported them. Then, she went home and left them all in the arena so she could be with her family again and nobody ever heard from the Hunger Games supporters again. A new government was started and Miss Basil Adair was made the president of the new country of Sparrow." I conclude with a bow as giggles emerge from my audience. I give my siblings hugs and take Basil out of Stone's arms and kiss her head.

"Oh Sparrow!" Fisk wails, "We don't have a token for you."

I then smile and shake my head, "yes, you do." I gesture them over and point to my wrist with my four bracelets on it, each a different color of rope. "Each of these bracelets represents one of my siblings," I explain, pointing to each. "Red for Channing because it is strong and bold, Blue for Fisk because it is calm and good, Yellow for Adoette because it is bright and vibrant, and Pink for Basil because it is innocent and sweet." Once more we hug before I move onto Stone.

"Sparrow." He chokes out.

"Stone." I say back, but before I can say any more, he pulls me into a hug. I am in such shock that I let him hold me.

"You're going to be okay, I know it." He says gently to me, as if I am a child. I know he is trying to be comforting and I really do want to love him, but he angers me and I pull back.

"Listen Stone, I know what I am doing because ever since we have come to live with you, you have underestimated me, all of us. We are tougher than you think and we aren't innocent little children any more. You gave us up because you didn't want us and didn't care for us, but now here you are, all upset that I'm going off to the Hunger Games," _and to my death_, "and I just don't get it. How can you not care for so many years then just walk in and expect us to welcome you and love you. I'm done Stone." I exhale on the last word.

He just stands there, "It was your mother-"

I just huff at the mention of her and before we can continue, the door opens and a peacekeeper comes barging in. "Time's up." I hug my siblings one more time and they are shoved out by a peacekeeper. I watch them go, praying in my heart that I will see them again, but knowing in my head that is highly unlikely. The door slams shut and I am alone. After what feels like ages, it opens again and that familiar olive face that I've grown to know and love so well comes in. Then, I know I can lose it. And I do. I fly into his arms and begin to soak his white shirt as tears silently stream down his face and onto my shoulder.

"I remember the first time I ever saw you cry." He begins after a minute that ticked away all too quickly. "We were six and it was during a thunder storm of all things." He laughed and I smiled into his shoulder, the memory coming back to me. "It was right before lights out and we were all getting ready for bed. I was sitting in my own bed when the door flung open to the room I slept in and all the other boys freaked that there was a girl at the door. They were freaked out enough at the storm. For a minute there, we all thought you were a ghost in your nightgown." I laugh, picturing all those six-year-old boys scared of a girl in a gray nightgown two sizes too big and falling off her shoulders. "I looked up just in time to see you come flying into my bed and pulling me under the covers with you because you didn't want the other boys to see that you were crying and afraid of the storm. When our room was inspected, you hid under the covers and nobody even knew you weren't in your own bed that night. Shows how much they cared about us. Anyway, that was the first night we slept together."

I laugh, "You make it sound so dirty. We slept together."

He grins and shrugs, "It's true. We've slept together multiple times."

I roll my eyes and punch him, "Just shut up." I stop crying and hug him one more time. Stash is the only person to ever see me cry.

"You're amazing and tough. You got this. I know you can do it. Show em what you're made of, Sparrow. We'll be watching every second of it." I nod. I can do this. I will come back and see my family and I will come back and see Stash. We will be united again.

And may the odds be _ever_ in my favor. Let the Games begin.

* * *

**Loken Farris, District Twelve Male**

_**shadesunrider13**_

* * *

I'm always the first one to sneak out. We don't exactly plan these nights; we just mention that we should go out this week and then I pick the day. My house is close to the center of town, so I'm the one who wakes up, gets the word out, and plans the pranks. I'm sort of the ringleader.

I jack open the window and climb out, closing it behind me. I'm on the ground floor, so this isn't difficult, but the window has been known to squeak in the summer as the wood expands from the heat. The light's on in my brother's room, but he won't tell on me. I know enough about him to keep him quiet. I wait an extra second to make sure that the noise hasn't woken anyone. Then I hang my whistle around my neck and set off.

I'm breaking curfew - one of the few rules you can break in District Twelve that isn't punishable by death. If the Peacekeepers catch you, they'll sentence you to twenty lashes, beat you on the spot, and dump you on your own doorstep for your family to find. Whenever we go out at night, my friends and I risk that, but it's worth it. There's nothing so exciting as outwitting the Peacekeepers, and what better night to show that you can't be controlled by the Capitol than the night before the reaping?

My first stop is at Hallen Vale's house. He's been my best friend for years. His family owns the dairy, and I can always count on their noisy herd of goats to conceal me from the Peacekeepers. I hide in the shed, put the whistle to my lips, and play three notes, our code for 'let's go'. The light goes on in Hallen's room, but I can tell something's wrong immediately because the person who comes to the window is definitely female. Hallen has someone in there with him, and whoever it is, they've just learned part of our code.

I sneak across the yard and Hallen appears beside the mystery girl. "Hey, Loken. Just give me a minute to get dressed."

"Who is with you?" I hiss. "You idiot. You knew it might be tonight! Couldn't you have just waited a few more -"

"It's just me, Loken." I study the girl and realize that it's Alamance Reston, whose family runs the blacksmith's shop. "I won't tell. I want to come with you."

I bite my lip to keep in the response that's begging to come out. When I started the raids, I was very careful about who came along, because if the Peacekeepers realize that we're organized, they can get us not only for breaking curfew but on charges of conspiracy. And that carries a death penalty. I may enjoy the thrill, but I'm not going to risk our lives for some girl who wants to spend a night on the wild side. "Hallen…"

"You can trust her." Hallen puts a protective arm around Alamance's shoulders.

"Fine. She can come. But if she gets us caught, you take the fall with her."

"She'll do great, Loken," Hallen says.

"_Hallen_."

"Okay. I take the fall." Hallen sighs. "It won't be a big deal. They'll just assume we're just two lovers out for a little walk in the moonlight."

"As far as they know, that's exactly what you are."

Those are the rules. If you're caught, you swear up and down that you were alone, or that you were doing something innocent. "Hurry up," I say. "The guard changes in fifteen minutes."

Hallen and Alamance climb out the window and follow me through the streets. "Loken," Hallen says as we head for the Seam, "you're not bringing those miner kids again, are you?"

Hallen, blond and pale, is a merchant kid through and through, and he's always had this vague disdain for anyone who isn't. Me, though, I have the dark hair and gray eyes of the Seam kids, and my family's butcher business is considered to be the lowest of merchant trades. I fit in with the miner kids. Not to mention that since my brother will inherit the butcher shop, I'll probably end up going into the mines just like the Seam kids will. Originally, it was me and a Seam girl, Malak Johnson, who began the raids. Hallen would be smart to remember that.

I try to keep the irritation out of my voice as I answer. "Yeah, I am. We're ambushing the Peacekeepers in the Seam tonight. There are lots of places to hide there."

"Isn't the Seam dangerous?" Alamance asks. I look at her and suppress a snarl. She's dressed all wrong, in light blue, with not a dark color anywhere on her. I catch Hallen's eye and jerk my head at her; without being asked, he pulls off is black jacket and puts it around her shoulders.

"Actually, it's safer in the Seam." For me, anyway. I blend in. These two stick out like a sore thumb.

There's quiet for a moment. Then Alamance says, "Is that a jabberjay whistle?"

I touch the whistle around my neck. "Yeah."

Once they figured out what was going on, the rebels used the jabberjays to feed the Capitol false information, but they still had to communicate, so they developed a code using whistles. It was rudimentary at best, but the Capitol never managed to break it. I was going through one of the junk heaps when I found the whistle, and I took it home, washed it off, and started using it to signal raids. The sound of the whistle mimics bird calls, so the Peacekeepers can't distinguish it from ordinary sounds.

"I think that's illegal," Alamance says.

She's probably right - anything rebel-related is illegal these days - but I don't care. I shrug and say, "So is this."

On the outskirts of the Seam, I pick up the rest of the group. Malak, her older brother Cahill, and their friend Lee. We've invited other girls before, but Malak is the only one who shows up regularly. We all have different theories about why that is.

Maybe that's why Malak is so annoyed by Alamance's presence. "Who's idea was this?"

"Mine," Hallen says defensively.

They size each other up, Alamance in her blue dress and Hallen's jacket, Malak in full raid gear, complete with black face paint.

"How fast can you run?" Malak asks.

"Pretty fast."

Malak tosses the supplies to her brother and climbs onto the roof of the nearest house. "Good," she says down to us, "because I'm not staying behind to save your merchant backside."

The houses in the Seam are packed close together, making it easy to jump from rooftop to rooftop. We move quickly until we reach the main road, where the fresh guards will come marching through. The road is deserted. Cahill checks his watch and swears. "We missed the changing of the guard."

"Only for the merchant side of town. We're in the Seam tonight, my friends," I say. Cahill looks slightly alarmed, but Malak grins, her teeth white against the face paint.

"We can spread out to other roofs," she says. "We don't want to get stuck like we did last time."

She throws the rest of us a dark look, prompting Alamance to ask, "What happened last time?"

Lee answers. "This was in the merchant section of town a couple months ago. The Peacekeepers figured out which roof we were on and cut off our escape from the ground floor, so we had to jump off. Most of us landed okay. Loken didn't. He busted his ankle, and that's why we haven't had any raids for the past couple of months."

"Yeah, spread out," I say, echoing Malak's idea. "And make it quick."

Cahill and Lee move a few roofs over, and Alamance and Hallen go to the opposite side of the street. Malak and I stay on the first roof and wait for the watch to change. She pulls out her slingshot and a bag of rocks and starts sorting through, picking out the most aerodynamic ones to use for herself. I always let her have first pick.

"Did you pick the Seam on purpose?" she says after a minute. "Because you're worried about what happened last time?"

"It was a closer call than I would have liked," I admit. Running home on a broken ankle was the scariest moment of my life, and I'm not eager to repeat it. "So yeah. Is it okay with you?"

Malak nods. She holds a rock up, examining it. "How about this one? Want it?"

"Nah, you have it."

She sets the rock in her pile and continues looking. It's quiet for a minute or more. I start filling the paint bombs - red, as usual - and watch Malak out of the corner of my eye. She seems nervous, quieter than usual. "Are you okay?"

She doesn't say anything. Then, "I had to take out tessarae this year."

"What?" Malak's father and her brother both work; she shouldn't have to take out anything. I know there have been other lean years when someone in her family has had to take out tesserae - the year her mother died, and maybe once more - but in those years Cahill was the one who put his name in extra times. He wasn't about to put his sister in danger. But now he's too old, and I was sure her family was out of the woods. "Why?"

"Dad got sick again." Malak tosses a rock up in the air and catches it, refusing to look at me. "Pneumonia. Cahill had to cut work to take care of him, and between food and medicine, we ran out of money fast. I put my name in one time for each of them."

"Did you tell them?"

"No."

"Why didn't you tell me? Dammit, Malak, I could have helped!"

"My family doesn't need your charity, Loken," Malak snaps.

I take a deep breath, remind myself that I don't know anything about the life of a miner kid. "How many times is your name in now?"

Malak lets out a short laugh. "Too many."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be stupid," Malak says. "There are people with big families who have their names in forty times by my age. The odds are still in my favor. How many times is your name in, Loken?"

I feel my face burn with shame as I say it. "Six."

She nudges me with her shoulder. "Seems like neither of us will be going to the Games this year."

"What a shame," I say, and she laughs.

A flash up the road catches my eye; light reflecting off a Peacekeeper's visor. Malak and I immediately lie flat on the roof, getting out of sight, and I bring the whistle to my lips and blow a high trill. _Get ready_. After the echo has died away, I lift my head to check things out. Everyone in the group has hidden themselves, and the Peacekeepers are almost even with the rooftop where Cahill and Lee are hiding. I wait until they're directly in front of Malak and I before I blow the whistle in a short, sharp, blast. _Attack_.

As the stones start flying, I take a second to congratulate myself on a well-done ambush. The Peacekeepers are caught in a crossfire from three separate rooftops, but we've left enough space between each outpost that they can't tell which roof the projectiles are coming from. While Malak reloads her sling, I put a paint balloon in my own slingshot and fire it straight at a Peacekeeper's head. The red paint explodes on his visor, effectively blinding him, and he staggers around, colliding with another one and knocking him down. I fire another paint balloon, and another, before a Peacekeeper turns in my direction and I have to drop out of sight.

Red lights begin to appear as the Peacekeepers raise their guns, looking for a target, but nothing is visible on my side of the street. Hallen, however, is on his feet to get a better angle, and a bullet flies past his head with a deafening crack. He falls back to the roof and vanishes from view.

Lights start going on in the houses - the gunshot has woken up the general populace - and I decide that it's time to fall back. I blow two short blasts on the whistle and everyone retreats, crawling to the edges of the rooftops and climbing down into the alleys. The group has separated. Hallen and Alamance will probably run back to Hallen's house, and I bet they'll make it. If they don't, they have a cast-iron cover story. The Peacekeepers stationed here year-round are usually younger and less experienced; after all, we're a small district who had only marginal participation in the rebellion. We don't represent the same kind of threat as District Eleven or District Eight.

Malak and I hide in the shadows behind a house. When she closes her eyes, she almost disappears into the darkness. The Peacekeepers run past on the street in front of the house, and we both breath a sigh of relief - right up until someone jabs me in the back with a fire poker.

"You'd better have a good reason for being here," the man says.

Malak and I turn around, putting our hands in the air. "We surrender," I say.

He laughs. "Kids, huh? I recognize you, boy. You're the butcher's son. The younger one. What are you doing out here?"

"Shopping for a house. As soon as my brother inherits the shop, he's kicking me out."

"Real comedian, aren't you?" The man shakes his head and turns his attention to Malak. "Malak, you're a smart girl. What are you doing mixed up with this idiot?"

"He's not an idiot, Mr. Abernathy," Malak says. "Do you know what we did tonight?"

"Yeah. You threw rocks at the Peacekeepers. Forgive me if I'm not in awe of your achievement." Mr. Abernathy spits on the ground, but keeps the fire poker pointed at my chest.

"No, we showed the Capitol that they don't own us," I say. "I'd say that's pretty important."

He makes a dismissive noise. "Petty rebellion. You wouldn't know the real thing if it bit you in the ass. You may think you're rebelling, kid, but really, you're just playing war games. I'll admit you're pretty good at it - nobody else has lasted this long without being caught. But make no mistake, if you keep doing this, you _will _get caught. Or are you too young to remember the executions?"

"No," I mutter.

It happened when I was seven. A group of teenagers tried to start another rebellion after their leader's twelve-year-old brother died in the Games, but they were stopped within hours. Those who weren't killed in the firefight were executed by firing squad in the town square while the whole district watched. Suddenly, I remember that one of the ringleaders had the surname Abernathy.

"My oldest son was like you. And look where that got him." Mr. Abernathy jabs me in the chest with the poker. "Go home, kid. Wash off that war paint. There's nothing in this for you but death."

He turns around and goes back inside his house, leaving Malak and I standing there, feeling chastened. The adrenaline rush of running from the Peacekeepers is fading fast, and it's being replaced by an overwhelming feeling of stupidity. Yeah, I've managed to outsmart the Peacekeepers on multiple occasions, but I've gotten away on a combination of luck and skill, and someday that luck is going to run out. I'm not a rebel leader. I'm a kid with a slingshot and some paint bombs.

"I just…" I trail off. "I just want to feel like I'm doing _something_. I want to do something important before I go into the mines."

"Me, too." Malak nods in agreement. Then she sighs. "You'd better get home, Loken."

"Yeah."

"Maybe I'll come see you before the reaping."

"I'll be covered in blood." Reaping day is always a big day for orders because most people make celebratory meals. What they're celebrating, exactly, has never been clear to me. Probably the luck of the draw that spared their family and devastated someone else's.

"Very sexy." Malak smirks and shoves me. "Seriously, Loken. Go."

"See you tomorrow."

I take the long way home, avoiding any roads where there might be Peacekeeper patrols. There's the tiniest point of light in the eastern sky by the time I reach my house, pull open the window, and climb through. I'll only get a few hours' sleep before my family wakes up to begin work, so I pull off my shoes and jacket, crawl into bed, and shut my eyes. Sleep comes almost immediately.

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The rooster down the street wakes me up at seven o'clock sharp, and I briefly wonder if the baker would sell him to us. I'd really enjoy wringing that damn rooster's neck. Reaping day is a holiday. I should get to sleep in. I pull my pillow over my head and go back to sleep for a few more minutes, until Mom bangs on the door to wake me up.

"Loken Farris, if you don't get up this instant -"

"I'm awake, Mom," I yawn.

"A shipment of beef came in. We have a lot of work to do, and if you're not in the kitchen in five minutes I'll put you on drainage duty."

Ugh. Drainage duty is hands-down the worst job in the butcher business; putting the carcass on a hook over a pot and draining the blood out of it. The copper stink of blood gets in your clothes and your hair and doesn't come out for weeks. "I'm up."

Three minutes later, I'm in the kitchen, bolting down a hurried breakfast with my brother and sisters before we head to the shop. Aden, my older brother, is nineteen and no longer has to worry about the reaping, so he, of course, looks relaxed. The twins, Andris and Merin, are terrified. It's only their second reaping. They haven't gotten used to it yet. I've tried telling them how long the odds are that they'll get picked , but it's no use. The best thing is to let them tough it out on their own.

As we walk to the shop, Mom gives us our assignments. "Merin, you're on drainage. Andris, you're helping me with curing. Aden, you're slicing. Loken, you and your father are working on processing."

"You mean killing."

"Processing," she says firmly. "They're animals, Loken."

Drainage may be the worst job, but processing is a close second. It's been my task for years. My father knocks the animals over the head, and it's my job to cut their throats while they're stunned. Then we skin the carcass and carry it inside for drainage. After we're done with that, we go help Aden with the slicing. One year, my father tried to get Aden to process the animals. Aden slit one cow's throat and promptly threw up, leading my father to comment that Aden might want to keep me around once he inherits the shop. "Lord knows you don't have the stomach for processing."

Not many people do. I don't know how I do it, because I look every animal in the eye as it's led into the yard, and then, a few seconds later, I cut its throat. Every time I get stuck on processing, I tell myself that this time I'll be sick, this time I'll make my father find someone else to do it, but it never happens. I keep on killing animals like I always have. The only person I ever talk to about it is Malak. She doesn't tell me that I'm stupid for worrying about what it says about me, that I can kill animals and get blood all over me without batting an eye.

There are only four cows this time, so at least the processing is over fast. Then I wash my hands, change my apron, and go help Aden. Nobody is as fast with knives as Aden. One time, I tried to mimic his speed and sliced my hand open, leaving a four-inch scar on the back of my hand. That taught me a lesson, and in the years since, I've learned to copy his motions at a much slower pace.

"So," Aden says, "how's that girlfriend of yours?"

"Malak's not my girlfriend." I roll my eyes. "How's _your _girlfriend, Aden? She wasn't back at the house last night, was she?"

Our parents have a rule; no significant others in the house after dark. Aden has taken to breaking that rule on numerous occasions, and unfortunately for him, I found out about it. Since then, I've used it as leverage over him for lots of things, but mostly to keep him quiet about our raids on the Peacekeepers. I don't like blackmailing my brother, but what I do isn't his business, and he needs to learn to stay out of it. He's always been too nosy for his own good.

Aden shakes his head. "My girlfriend has a name, Loken."

"And what is it?" I say, pretending I've forgotten just to needle him.

"Lovisa Reston."

"Oh, yeah," I say. "Now I remember. I think Hallen is going out with her younger sister."

"Alamance?" When I nod agreement, Aden snorts. "She's a piece of work."

"I always thought she was all right. Not the brightest, but all right."

"She treats Lovisa like a servant or something, and worse, her parents let her do it," Aden says. "They think Alamance is going to marry out to another merchant family and bring them glory and riches."

"Doesn't she work?"

"No. Lovisa is the one who works in the forge." Aden shakes his head. "After we get married, I think I'm going to help her."

"Wait, you're marrying her?" I knew Aden and Lovisa were pretty serious, but I didn't think they were talking about marriage.

"I'm going to ask her after the reaping," Aden says. "Once she knows she's safe, she'll say yes, and I can apprentice to her father and start learning the trade. You know what that means for you, don't you?"

Yeah, I do. It means that I - I, and not Aden - will inherit the butcher shop. I won't have to go down into the mines once I turn eighteen. I won't have to worry about accidents, explosions and pockets of poisonous gas that can kill you in less than a minute. Instead, I'll lead a merchant's life. I'll be living in relative comfort while Malak faces a short, miserable life in the mines.

Aden has stopped slicing and he's just looking at me. "Loken, are you okay?"

Before I can answer, Mom notices our inaction. "Loken, Aden, get back to work!"

By noon, we've already sold out all of the fresh meat, mostly to merchant families who have long odds in the reaping. The Restons stop by, Alamance giving me a shifty smile as her father orders a beef haunch in a loud voice, making sure everyone in the shop hears that he can order a prime cut of meat without saving for a month. Lovisa and Aden talk quietly for a minute; then her father motions for her to carry the haunch and they leave. I watch them go, wondering if they'll soon be my brother's family. If some day years from now, he'll come in with Lovisa and their children and buy meat from me.

Things are winding down when Malak stops by. She's wearing a pink dress and a pink ribbon in her hair, looking a lot different than she did when I saw her last night. Unfortunately, I haven't had time to clean up, so my prediction comes true. I am covered in blood.

Malak sighs. "Loken, the reaping starts in forty-five minutes."

I roll my eyes. "Tell that to my mother. The twins left an hour ago." I call back into the shop. "Ma, can I go yet?"

"Any more customers?"

I leap over the counter and look up and down the street. Nobody. "No."

"Fine. We'll see you after the reaping."

"Well," Malak says as she walks with me back to my house, "that was abrupt?"

"What do you mean?"

"My father actually teared up when I left this afternoon," Malak says. "Hugged me and told me he loved me, the whole nine yards. Your mother's just like, 'See you after the reaping'. Isn't she worried about you?"

"Nah, she's not."

My family has traditionally been cavalier about the reaping, and really, what reason would we have to be scared? None of us have tesserae. Not like Malak. When I think about telling her what my brother said, my throat closes up. I feel like it'll upset her, disappoint her, and I don't want to do that. Not today.

At my house, Malak stays downstairs to talk with the twins, who have, like me, remained ignorant of social customs designating that merchant kids and Seam kids don't mix. They adore her, and she looks at them like the younger siblings she's never had. While she's helping them do their hair, I run upstairs and take the fastest bath I've ever done, using some of Merin's scented soap to help get rid of the smell of blood. Then I change into my reaping clothes, a white shirt and black pants, and a pair of shoes that aren't bloodstained, and run downstairs.

Malak is braiding Andris's hair, and she quickly finishes it off with a ribbon as I come into the room. Andris leaps up and spins around, pulling out the skirt of her frilly white dress. "Loken, how do I look?"

"You look great," I say. "Come on, guys. Wouldn't want to be late."

Malak sniffs the air. "You still smell like blood, Loken."

I shake my head. "I give up. Let's just go."

Andris runs ahead as we begin the short walk to the town square, but Merin sticks close to me, holding my hand. At thirteen, she's probably too old for that, but I let her do it anyway. "You're going to be fine," I tell her. "Trust me."

She nods, squeezing my hand once, and then she hurries after her twin, leaving Malak and I alone. Malak is studying me with her typical direct gaze. "What?" I say finally.

"You'd make a good dad," she tells me. "Like my father."

"Why are Seam parents nicer than merchant parents?" I wonder aloud, changing the subject in an effort to avoid overthinking Malak's comment.

"Because they know they might lose their kids," Malak answers matter-of-factly. "The reaping's more than one bad day for people like us. And anyway, your dad isn't horrible. The blacksmiths are worse."

I remember how Lovisa's father, who could've carried that beef haunch himself, made her do it instead. "I think my brother's going to marry Lovisa Reston."

Malak nods. "We were all wondering what was taking him so long. She'll be so happy."

Lovisa is another one of the merchant kids who associates with Seam kids. She and Malak have been friends for a while, even though Lovisa is two years older, and they always sit at the same table at school. Lovisa Reston. My sisters. Malak. I have so many people I'm worrying about in this reaping.

"And to think, all this time I've been blackmailing him. I can't believe I thought I could stand in the way of true love," I say, and Malak laughs. Then we're at the square, and the laughter dies off her face.

We get in line to register, and the closer we get to the front, the whiter Malak's face becomes. I know she's thinking about the eight slips with her name on them in the girls' reaping ball. I sign in, and then she does, and then she has to head to the girls' section. I give her a quick hug before she goes.

"You'll be okay," I say in her ear.

She shakes her head, and I can see that she's trying to hold back tears. Malak has always been brave, but the terror of this is coming down on her and she's getting overwhelmed. I offer her a crumpled handkerchief from my pocket. "Malak, listen. You'll be okay. Don't cry."

A Peacekeeper motions at us, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice a speck of dried red paint on his visor. "Move along, you two."

"Just a minute," I say. I have Malak by the shoulders. "Malak, I'll see you after the reaping, all right?"

"All right." She wipes her eyes, stands up straight, and hands me back my handkerchief. "Good luck, Loken."

"You, too," I say, and then we separate.

I find Hallen in the boys' section, but I can barely pay attention to him as he yammers on about how Alamance is really into him after he took her on the raid. I'm craning my neck, searching out Malak in the girls' section. I spot her standing beside Lovisa. The older girl has a protective arm around her shoulders, and I can see her lips moving. Good. Someone is taking care of her.

The mayor, a chubby man, reads the Treaty of Treason to the tune of a lot of yawning from everyone at the reaping. Then the escort comes out, announcing that it's time to choose the tributes. Our escort is an old woman with white hair. She looks like somebody's grandmother - or at least she does until you see her red eyes. Every year, at least a few twelve-year-olds cry at the sight of her. She moves to draw the first name. Ladies first. Like always. As she roots around in the bowl with her wizened claw of a hand, I pray for Malak. _Not her. Anybody but her_.

And it's not her. It's a girl named Sparrow Adair, wearing a lacy white dress. I've probably seen her before - we all go to the same school, after all - but if I did, she didn't make much of an impression. I glance over at the girls' section again. Malak and Lovisa are standing there with their arms around each other, Malak knowing that she's made it through, Lovisa knowing that she'll never have to face another reaping. I keep my eyes on them as the escort reads out the name of the male tribute.

"Loken Farris."

Hallen turns to me with a look of utter horror on his face. "That's you, Loken."

"I know my own name," I say idly to him, but my mind is going at lightning speed. I have no tesserae. My name is in the minimum number of times for a seventeen-year-old. I should be safe. But I am clearly not safe, because the escort just called my goddamn name and no one is going to volunteer for me.

Hands start pushing at my back. "Go, Loken," someone whispers. "Before they send the Peacekeepers to get you. _Go_."

I stand up straight and walk to the stage, climbing up and brushing past the escort's outstretched hand. I end up beside Sparrow, who is shorter than me, and younger, too. She's clearly from the Seam. I wonder if she knows that I'm a merchant, or if she thinks I'm just a Seam kid like her. We shake hands. I wonder if she can smell the blood scent that clings to me. I know the escort can; her nostrils are flaring and she keeps shooting sideways looks at me.

Peacekeepers surround us and lead us off the stage, putting us into separate rooms. I don't even notice. I'm too busy running scenarios through my head, escapes and kills and my own probably impending death. I barely notice when Malak comes in.

"Loken," she starts, but I cut her off.

"I don't want to hear it, okay? I'm not going to live; I'm probably not even going to get a chance to fight!"

"Sparrow Adair is fifteen years old," Malak tells me. Rather than some useless attempt at comfort, she's giving me the best thing she can; information about one of my opponents. "She was in the community home for a long time, and when she came out, she was different. Bad things happened to her in there. She lives way out at the end of my street, and this morning, I saw her kill a half-dead chicken by stabbing it through the heart."

That last sentence is all that penetrates my brain. "That's not very efficient. If you want to kill something, always go for the throat."

Malak smiles slightly. "There's the Loken I know. Remember what Mr. Abernathy said to you last night? You're good at playing war games. This is just another war game. Win it."

"Against the Careers?" I snort. "Not likely."

"You've been using knives for years."

"Aden's better than me."

"Not by much. You know what you're doing," Malak says. "You have the best aim with a slingshot I've ever seen. You can use knives. That's more weapons training than most district kids ever get. Think this through. Don't give up on us."

A Peacekeeper raps on the door. "One minute left."

Suddenly, it occurs to me why Malak is the only one here. "My parents aren't coming, are they?"

She shakes her head. "No, and they kept the twins away, too. Aden gave me a message for you."

"What was it?"

"Don't die."

We both laugh at that. I'm not surprised that my family isn't here. They know I'm not likely to come back, so they probably think it's just best to have a clean break. It'll be okay. They have three other children. The loss of their second son won't break their hearts.

"Malak?" I say.

"Yeah?"

"In case I don't come back…"

"What?"

I take a deep breath. "When we were little, I always thought I was going to marry you. I remember I asked you one time, on the playground. What was it you said?"

"I told you I'd think about it."

"Have you?"

We look at each other. A Peacekeeper opens the door, grabs Malak's arm, and starts to pull her away. "Time's up."

Malak steps hard on his foot and twists her arm free. "Loken, I thought about it! My answer's yes!"

The Peacekeeper gets a better grip on her and pulls her out the door. It slams shut behind her, and I sit there, with an odd grin on my face. I think I just got engaged. Then I wonder if it was fair to do that to Malak, to let her know how much I care about her and extract some promise from her when I probably won't be coming back. It was something I had to do, but my confession is sure to hurt her. I don't want to hurt her.

Well. There's only one way for that to work - I have to win the Games. I bring the jabber jay whistle to my lips and kiss it; then I tuck it back under my shirt. Then I sit down and wait for the Peacekeepers to come get me, already planning the opening moves of the war game that will decide my fate.


	14. Goodbye Home

**A/N-** It's a day late but here it is the first Capitol Chapter! Thanks to everyone that has been with us from the first reaping, things now get a lot more interesting! :D

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**ActressAssassin2010 A/N- **Hi! I loved reading all your reviews on the reaping I wrote, thank you. The analysing of the reapings in this chapter are a bit tedious I think, but I hope you like the chapter as a whole :D

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**Pippa Rosalin, District Nine Female**

**Train Rides Part One**

_**ActressAssassin2010**_

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The amber fields pass the train window at such pace they are just a mere blur in the landscape. The chalky blue skies are a gorgeous contrast and I am itching to find a canvas and paint the glorious sight down. In the distance, small clusters of houses stand amongst the growing grain. I fiddle nervously with the bracelet Dylan hastily pushed into my hands as I was lead out of the Justice Building. It's his mother's, I've seen her wearing it before. The thin, silver plated bracelet has flecks of a small, orange stone set in the silver that glint gold in the light. I tap my nails on the bracelet as I watch District Nine fade into the distance. Jerin, the boy reaped alongside me, stands by my side, and we watch out of the window together. The silence is not awkward, but almost bonding, and we sway gently in time as the last of District Nine slips away past the window and out of sight. Both of our homes disappear as we pass through a tunnel. I hear him speak for the first time.

"That's that then." Jerin says, rubbing his hand through his light hair. I look at his dark, solemn eyes. His voice is unexpectedly soft and very quiet.

"Don't worry." I say, touching his arm gently as Dylan would do to sooth me. He flinches as my fingertips touch his ice cold skin. "You might live to see home again." I smile. I don't know how I am able to sound so confident and calm out loud when I'm shivering with nerves and feeling nauseous inside.

He looks at me.

"What?" I question, shrugging. "Nothing wrong with hope."

Jerin shakes his head. "Why do you even want to talk to me like we actually have a chance?" he questions. "No one listens to me, so why would you?"

"We're in the same boat, remember? I don't know anything about you apart from your name and we're both going into an arena to fight to the death. I want to listen to you, because I know how it feels to be alone. We need to have hope."

"But there is no hope. And if there is, I don't want to go home anyway. I'd rather die in the arena." He says, eyes dropping to the ground. I feel my mouth open in shock. Is he serious?

"You don't mean that, surely?" I ask in astonishment. Even I have tried to keep hope that all this fighting with my sisters would stop.

"If I somehow win, which is highly unlikely given that the likelihood is we have another six strong careers this year, and go back to Nine, people's perception of me will change. I despise their perception of me now but I would hate to think people who dislike me would pretend to be friends me because I have money. And I have no one now."

"Well, we've got to be tough, I suppose." Not really knowing how to respond. "You had a bad past then too?" I ask sympathetically as we trudge towards the sofas set in an 'L' shape round a TV. He hunches his shoulders and settles into a corner of the sofa, blatantly not wanting to talk about it. His almost white hair flops forwards, just brushing the tops of his eyelids, and his dark, black eyes focus on the floor. "Don't want to talk about it." He mumbles.

"I'll listen." I say, trying to sound like Dylan did when talking to me about my siblings. "No one ever does."

"But I will!" I insist, willing for him to look at me. He does, and when he does his sad, lonely eyes find mine. His dark eyes are full with longing; he wants someone to understand. He needs someone and it's beginning to become clear to me I must be Dylan in Jerin's situation. I put my own past problems to the back of my mind, as his seem more recent and are troubling him. "Please, talk to me. I can help; find ways to deal with it, if you let me understand." I shift next to him, leaving a gap so he's not uncomfortable with the closeness. I want him to trust me. _I do honestly want to help you, Jerin. I can try to understand, and we can have each other to rely on and trust in the arena. We can be allies, if you want. I want to help you, and I want to understand why you are so sad._

"You can trust her." A lush, deep voice makes me jump suddenly. Jerin doesn't even flinch, but his dark eyes watch intently, waiting for an explanation. I turn to see a man, with the most enchanting green eyes watching us from an armchair opposite. How could we not even see him? I compare him to a cat with his glowing green eyes and shiny, smooth jet black hair flicking over his forehead. The emeralds glitter from beneath his clear lenses set in a black frame with leaves in a matching green down the sides of the glasses. He chuckles, a charming smirk appearing on his face.

"My name is Flux." His strong Capitol accent is apparent, but he wrinkles his nose as he talks, despising his own voice. "I am your Capitol mentor this year, given District Nine have yet to win a Hunger Games. I aim to change that this year." He smiles slightly. "But in order to change that I must have your trust and you must have mine. I am here because I want to be here. I want to help you live." He pushes his glasses up his nose. "So we must make an agreement to be honest with each other." Flux leans back at ease into the armchair, folding his long, thin legs over each other. He unbuttons his fancy waistcoat with his careful fingers and smooths down his deep purple shirt.

I shiver, worried I'll have to spill my past, and I notice out of the corner of my eye Jerin shifts uncomfortably. Still, a small "I agree" escapes my mouth. Despite how much I fear word getting out about my sisters, and having to face those consequences from them if I ever see them again, I do not want to die, and I know being able to trust Flux will help me. I give Jerin a gentle nudge in the ribs.

"Just say you agree. He's not going to talk about things you don't feel comfortable about, right, Mr Flux?" He chuckles again.

"Just Flux will do, dear PipPip."

"Don't call me that." I snap, my nerves on edge. Kiara's daunting face appears in front of me. I feel my hands shaking as her laugh echoes through my head.

"Excuse me?" Flux asks, and cocks an eyebrow, but doesn't otherwise seem annoyed by my tone.

"Sorry." I apologise sharply. "I don't like that name. Please, just Pippa."

"So it's associated with something bad then? Something bad in the past lead to you disliking that name, but what?" I watch him through narrow eyes. He's trying to use his obviously outstanding brain to work out why. To be fair he is getting pretty far, but I don't like people who pry who seem to have no real interest what so ever in my life.

"Nothing happened. I just don't like the name PipPip." I insist, smiling fakely. My eyes relax reluctantly, but his eyes continue to search my face for something.

"That scar." He nods to my face. "How did you get it?" I know what one he's referring to- the long, thin pale line that stretches from the corner of my right eye all the way down to my jaw. I can feel Kiara's nails embedding themselves in my face, tearing away at my flesh, breaking my skin. A shiver runs through my body as my blood goes cold. Her laughing face, those bright eyes glistening with glee and enjoyment, her perfect face I had contained the urge to break for so long… I strike. On impact, I feel her bones crack underneath my powerful punch. Shards of her face scatter in the room, sharp points prick at my knuckles and her face begins to slowly disappear into the deep red blood that coats her skin. Her frail body falls backwards, and her skull knocks the bedpost firmly. A deafeningly loud crack echoes in the room. Then the faces of my parents emerge from smoke, along with my siblings. They all look so disappointed with me, so angry, so sad. In the background I hear her laugh again. Kiara's blood drying on my hands conceals my skin. I rub at the frantically, working myself into a panic. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." My breathing is quick as I feel the tears falling from my eyes, before sliding slowly down my face. Greeting my ears is the sound of my shrill crying. "It wasn't my fault! It was all her, it was the first time I fought back. The very first time!" I rub at my hands again. The blood won't go away. I scrub at them fiercely.

Spinning around on the balls of my feet to find some water a hand rests on my shoulder. I am jolted out of the scary images I saw and my eyes find the present room. A vase is in tiny fragments at my feet. The shattered glass juts out from my knuckles and the only blood there is my own.

"Calm down, Pippa." A gentle voice is saying. "Whatever that was it wasn't real. It was just a dream." The hand strokes my back soothingly as I let out a huge breath of air. "It wasn't real." I say out loud, convincing myself. I grimace as I wipe the tears away and Flux's concerned looking face comes into focus. I shakily begin to breathe again; ignoring the freezing cold state my body seems to be stuck in.

"What happened?" Flux asks quietly, guiding me to a chair. His hands are firm and tight on my shoulders, as is he thinks I'm going to slip from his grasp and smash up some more of the Capitol train. Settling me into the chair, he smoothly slides into a seat opposite. He pushes his thick frame glasses up his nose again.

"I'm not going to be able to kill someone." I say in despair. My head falls to my hands and I allow my ice cold fingertips to sooth my burning cheeks. Flux and Jerin sit silently, waiting for me to get a hold of myself.

"What happened, Pippa?" Flux asks again. He sounds so trustworthy, so caring. My mouth opens and I spill everything out from when the troubles with my sisters first starts when I am younger, all the way through Frank and Ben helping me, meeting Dylan and him assisting me with finding ways to deal with my anger and emotions, past the times where I never fought back, and all the way through today.

"And it's the first time I've ever, ever touched her. And now I feel so guilty even when I don't. I'm not making sense." I exhale loudly.

"Well you shouldn't feel guilty." Flux says.

"They have given you all that pain over your childhood; caused so many scars and broken bridges that can never be rebuilt. You shouldn't feel guilty about one punch. That was a dream, Pippa." He says in his soft voice. "You never killed her. I have no doubt even though what you've been through you still never will. However, you thought you'd never retaliate, but today you snap, and punch her. It's just heat of the moment. I don't doubt that's what it'll be like in the arena. No matter how hard you try and control yourself, the human instinct of survival kicks in."

I take a moment to absorb what Jerin says whilst he watches me intently. "He's completely right, you know. I may not have been in the arena myself, but we've all heard that from many who've had that experience." Flux chips in.

I suppose what Jerin's saying does make perfectly reasonable sense. How someone who barely talks can come out with all that knowledge is beyond me, however I do understand. Despite that fact I know my guilty conscience will forever be there, especially if I kill on instinct.

"Thank you." I say quietly, glancing up to see Jerin's eyes back on the floor again. He nods slightly. I push the gory images of Kiara's corpse from my mind and move back to Jerin's side. "What time are the reaping recaps?" As I ask the television flickers to life with the Capitol seal shining on the dark backdrop.

"Looks like now." Flux smiles, and settles back into his chair. "Now I want you to watch carefully, as you both know these will either be your allies or foe in the arena."

* * *

First up is District One and I have to say, they do open the recaps excitingly. Well, excitement for the Capitol citizens ready to bet on our lives. There's a fight between two girls, and eventually a beautiful girl with gold tumbling curls and glittering grey eyes triumphs, and takes to the stage. I'm in awe at her perfect complexion, and don't doubt the fact she'll easily get sponsors from the men in the Capitol. However confident she seems the second time she announces she volunteers, the camera catches a glint in her eyes. I think it's a mixture of worry and regret, but then again, I could easily be wrong. I certainly don't want to cross her in the arena.

The tough male volunteer is huge, and kills another boy in the process of volunteering. I wince as he cracks the boy's neck and tears spring to my eyes. How could someone kill another human to have the 'honour' of representing their district and killing more children. He flicks his pale hair and the smug grin on his face clearly indicates he is so full of himself. District One will have more than a fair share of sponsors this year, as long as the flawless Allure can pull off a high training score.

"I'd say definite contenders. Look at them both! He's huge and handsome and she's going to have all of the sponsors. Not to mention they also both fought to represent One."

"Don't over estimate." Flux says simply as the girl from two volunteers.

"Wait, you think he's handsome?" Jerin raises his eyebrows before grinning, and for a second he seems to be emerging from his shell. "No!" I object quickly, shaking my head vigorously. "I mean for the Capitol; they love the whole muscle and perfect looks thing, don't they?"

"Whatever you say." Jerin rolls his eyes sarcastically and focuses back on the screen. Before I know it his dead looking eyes are back, and he is crawling back into his shell, a downcast shadow lingering over his face. An explosion echoes from the television and my eyes dart up in shock. A small boy with curly brown locks is present on the stage as the smoke fades. His name is Jem. He has little muscle, if any, but his green eyes are gorgeous. "How did he do the thing with the smoke?" I ask, but Jerin and Flux shrug. "Probably just a type of smoke bomb. But to set that all up he must be pretty intelligent..."

"Ally material?"

"Possibly. What do you both think?"

"I like him." I say quickly. This earns me a glance from Flux and he raises his eyebrows. "Whoa, not like that! I mean, he's smart, for sure, if he set the whole thing up." I say swiftly. "And besides, the arena is no place for anything like that, if that's what you thought I meant."

"Sure, sure." Flux smirks and holds up his hands. "What do you think, Jerin." I watch Flux watching Jerin, who still stares at the screen as the reaping switches to District three. He shrugs. "I don't know. I'd prefer to meet them in person before we try to make decisions. He probably already is allied with his partner, anyway." He pauses. "I don't like the look of him."

I sigh. "Okay, that's fine." I force a smile. I want to ally Jerin, so I must take into account who he wants and doesn't want, or it'll never work when I ask him. I don't know what is drawing me so much to Jerin. Is it that I'm subconsciously still trying to be Dylan? His eyes are so dark, depressed. I want to make them happy again. Seeing someone with no hope of returning to his home, not even a flicker, for some unknown reason makes me more desperate to help him sort things out and believe he can trust me. He understands what happened to me, he helped me, and I want to help him.

District Three passes, and is pretty standard comparing it to One, Two and Four. Spark seems to be very hostile or just hiding her emotions. The boy faints when his name is called. "Bloodbath?" I ask.

"Possibly. You never know though, he could actually be able to use a method to kill anyone, and can learn at the training centre."

Five once again play the poker face, but the commentators announce that the male who is reaped, Ryan, is son of one of District Five's victors. Our room is all raised eyebrows. Before I can open my mouth to comment, Flux is speaking.

"It's his father who won the games, not him. He may have some information about what to do but seriously, he's just another competitor."

District Six are a curious pair. The girl starts to cry on stage and the whole district looks happy she has been reaped. There are even a few laughs. She is the daughter of District Six's mayor. To me, she looks a bit spoilt. "Unfortunate." I mutter half-heartedly.

"Yeah." Jerin sighs.

The boy, Phoenix from Six does catch my eye though. He's tall and thin, and doesn't look anything special, but there's something about him I can't pin down. I don't think he'll be a bad ally if I can manage to talk to him at the training centre. Kilea Fairbane and Tyrion Pond are the tributes from District Seven. Kilea is a volunteer, which actually surprises me as she only looks around fourteen or fifteen. Usually it's older people or people with younger siblings to protect who volunteer. Her motives are confusing, because she doesn't look incredibly strong. Their escort has trouble pronouncing Tyrion's name, and after a long pause he emerges from the crowds. He trips as he walks, and almost falls up the stage stairs. He's nervous, and appears to be terrified. Is that what I looked like when I was chosen? It seems like I am reaped years ago, and after Dakota Phillips, only relative Tabitha Phillips –District Eight's lone victor- gets pulled from the reaping ball, and the selected boy Magic tries to run and escape –resulting in a wound in his ankle- the screen flicks to District Nine. Robinetro enters the train cart just as he walks on stage. A grin crosses his face and his alarming pink eyes light up. Flux frowns and rolls his eyes as Robinetro speaks in time with the recording, introducing the viewers to District Nine. I miss the speech as I came in late, but it's no different from last year. My name is called. I can feel Dylan's arms around me again and his gentle push to get me to walk to the stage. The most prominent thing to be heard is Kiara's laugh, being emitted loud and clear from the back of the square. I watch myself take the long walk, tugging nervously at my uncomfortable dress, something I didn't even realise I had been doing at the time. My tears in my eyes are obvious to the cameras, but as I see myself blinking them back and refusing to let them fall I feel a sparkle of determination. _I won't fall because the Capitol wants me to._

Once again, Jerin joins me on the stage. We both look so vulnerable. I can see my legs quivering slightly whilst Jerin remains emotionless. As we shake hands my small smile is caught. The commentators discuss its meaning between the gap to District Ten. One of the most suprising things they come across is it means I am confident to win the games. "That's a joke, right?" I glare at the screen.

Robinetro speaks over most of the remaining reapings, his voice and Capitol accent brutally piercing my ears until I am forced to watch the reapings with both my hands over my ears. I feel tears begin to prick in my eyes, as Robinetro criticises us and what we did wrong whilst conducting ourselves during the reaping. As much as I want to spit out a comment and a harsh come back, I stay silent, wanting to resume my invisible act.

The girl reaped from ten causes a commotion on her name being announced. Everyone in the crowd whispers. We cannot work out what they're saying, but they still applaud like we have to as the tributes are reaped. She doesn't look up and rocks slightly. Her partner is more unreadable, and unexplainably his face shows bored. I frown at the screen. Is he just an act? District Eleven is the district I am keen to ally. The girl might be around my age, and once again there's no commotion when her name is called. Neither of the teenagers from eleven cry, however they do look rather young and not particularly strong. Both appear a tad ruffled by their names being chosen, but little true emotion is shown.

And last, of course, District Twelve. Her eyes show she wants to cry but she somehow holds it all in as she walks to the stage. Sparrow, her name is. I can't help but smile as the image of a small, swift bird comes into my head. He sat on my window sill and whistled to me one morning. I did a painting of him when I was around ten, but I've either misplaced it or Kiara disposed of it. Sparrow's partner is an older boy, Loken, who is softly pushed in the back when his name is called so he actually moves rather than remaining a lifeless statue. After the commentators sign out, the screen fades to black and I instantly turn to Flux.

"I think Elliah and Cyrus will be good allies, the pair from eleven." I say.

"Look," Flux says. "Why don't you both have a little think over who you both want to ally, and whether you want to ally with each other, before you sleep. Then in the morning you'll get to meet them and find out what they're good at and what use they'll be in the arena."

"That sounds a bit harsh. I'm just going to use someone to help me live."

"Well to be frank, it's you or them, dear." Robinetro inspects his finger nails before glancing up at me from under his eyebrows. "You've seen the games. Manipulation is a huge part of them, always. You need to get better at it and understand you must kill people you mightn't want to kill."

"I understand." I say simply. I don't. I detest the whole idea of children killing each other for the drama. When I watched the games, I always felt so safe at home, and I could never imagine being in the arena therefore I would never be chosen because it wouldn't be real. My childish logic makes me disgusted now. I am scared. Truly scared. More scared of this than I ever have been of Kiara, and that's saying something. The thought of winning frightens me most; if some miraculous way it does happen, it means I'd have killed people to get there. It means Jerin won't be alive, and I know, even when the time comes, that I won't be able to kill him. I won't be able to kill anyone. We're all just kids! We shouldn't be here, preparing to fight for our lives! It's wrong, and it's so, so sick. I feel my face crumple as I begin to cry. _No, stop it! Don't you dare feel sorry for yourself. Suck it up. If you die then you die and it is meant to be. If you win it's because you are meant to, do you understand? _I nod.

Flux dismisses us to our rooms.

* * *

Jerin and I trudge silently down the corridor until we reach our compartments, which are just next door to each other. He goes to step into his room but my hand shoots out, blocking his path. "Jerin." I say shakily. "Please, tell me why you are so sad. Tell me what's wrong."

"Why would anyone care?" He asks, tears forming. "Why would you care, we are going to be killing each other in a few days time."

"We can be allies." I say, holding his quivering arm gently.

"Why are you so nice? Why do you have to care when no one ever has before?" I watch him break down. He leans heavily on the wall as the tears flow down his face. His eyes are squeezing tight shut, but it doesn't stop the flow of tears. Suddenly he's telling me everything. Through it all, my hand finds his and I sit with him until his crying ceases. His flesh is ice cold and I shudder on contact. His hand grips mine and I wait patiently for him to be ready. "I'm sorry." I say, almost inaudible. His story about his friend killing herself has completely unhinged me. "I want to help you."

"How?" He asks. "How is that possible after what I've lost and what I can never get back."

"Morgan is up there, you know. She's going to be watching you. You will carry her with you, in your heart, wherever you go. You've not lost her; you just can't see her anymore." I absently stroke his arm in what I believe to be a soothing way.

"Will you be my ally?" He asks after a considerably long pause.

"Of course I will." I smile softly. I am surprised when he leans in and hugs me. "I want to help you get through this, Jerin. I'm going to show you that

"Thank you." He whispers. "No one has ever cared before."

"I understand." I nod. "I had no one until I met Dylan."

"You're lucky." He says in a low voice.

"I know I am. I'm going to miss him so much. He's always been there for me." I sigh. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jerin." My soft smile turns to a bright grin when Jerin returns my smile. "See you tomorrow, Pippa."

* * *

I toss and turn under the bed sheets. The silk pyjamas irritate my skin, so I strip off and pull on a wool set. I finally feel comfortable. My head rests on the plump pillows and I sigh as I settle. I silently say goodbye to Dylan, Kash and my family. Dylan's eyes sparkle their unique silver as the sun catches them. He grins and waves at me, leaning back onto the field gate, exactly like this morning. A lone tear trickles down my cheek as I drift into slumber. _Goodbye home. _


	15. Fire on the Ocean

**A/N- **Sorry for the late update, this isn't the next chapter that's supposed to be put up but there's a delay in receiving the next chapter, I gave it a week but decided to just move on so you shall see the train rides part 2 whenever I receive it so don't worry xD Anyway enjoy this next chapter!

* * *

**Cyrus Ithilien, District Eleven Male**

**First Day in the Capitol**

_**androidilenya**_

* * *

"Well, here you are. This is going to be your home for the next few days, so I suggest that you make yourselves comfortable!" Krissi Dane sounds far too excited about our new lodgings, though I would hardly expect anything less from a pampered Capitol citizen.

These are, in fact, quite luxurious rooms, especially compared to the three-room shack I live in (lived in, now) in District Eleven. The only downside is that it seems to be snowing indoors. I know that it's just another hallucination (surely not even the Capitol would waste resources on making indoor snow?) but it is quite annoying to have to brush little white flakes out of your eyes when no one else can see them.

Snow in District Eleven was always a source of initial joy, at least for the children, but when it became obvious that the cold and wet were there to stay, people started getting miserable. Winter was a time of death for the poorer citizens, and any that could not scavenge something to burn to stay warm would freeze.

A terrible thing. But life as it is in District Eleven. And when poverty is something you grow up with, something you breathe and eat (or don't eat, actually) and sleep every day of your life, you get used to it. You forget that there is even something beyond the poverty.

Here, in the Capitol, it's driven home that not everyone lives in poverty. I've never even seen such luxury, but Krissi acts like it's something she sees every single day as she leads us through the apartment, chattering cheerfully at us.

"Obviously the two of you get separate rooms. Wouldn't do to have anything, ah... inappropriate going on between you two, eh?" The green-haired woman winks at us and laughs as though she has just made the cleverest joke in the world. Elliah doesn't join in the laughter. Neither do I.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Krissi clears her throat and continues to lead us around. I watch her ice-blue lips move without really hearing the sounds she's making. My fingers stray to the folded piece of paper in my pocket, the one with the pencil drawing of Dryad on it. I wonder what that little girl would think of all this. Knowing her, the splendor of the Capitol would entrance her. She's always liked sparkly things, though there aren't many of those in District Eleven.

It occurs to me that she might be here one day. That she might be Reaped and die. Because that's what it means when you're Reaped in District Eleven. You die.

I meet Elliah's crystal blue eyes and she smiles hesitantly at me. "She does go on at length, does she not?" she whispers to me, looking amused.

"Yes." I can't help but flinch as a shower of snow from the counter scatters across my legs as Krissi opens the door. Elliah's eyes brighten.

"What are you seeing right now?" I can see it in her face- despite herself, she wishes she had these visions. She thinks it's entertainment beyond that which you get on a television screen, like living in one of the old movies.

How wrong she is.

"Snow," I mumbled, looking away. The flakes are caught in her red hair, pristine and sparkling in the light of the lamps nearby. Her wide, innocent eyes are so like Dryad's that it's hard to look at her for too long... because if Alari had lived, would she be this girl? Doomed to die in an arena for the entertainment of the citizens of the richest city in this blasted country?

Of course she knows about the hallucinations. I know that most of the District probably suspects there's something wrong with me- it's not hard to notice that kind of thing- but she's observant. Quiet, but observant. I've realized that much about her in the short time I've been with her. But rather than be afraid of me, rather than avoid me like mental problems are contagious, she's actually sought my company.

We're allies. She asked me on the train and I accepted. It's too late to change that, even if I start regretting my choice now.

Well. We're both going to die, so we might as well die together. I wonder if that's why she asked- she was afraid to die alone.

_"We could help each other. I'm just trying to aid you in our journey to stay alive. It's like… a quest. Teamwork."_

And in those words, the unspoken words: in our journey to stay alive, one of us will die. Most likely both of us. But while we live, it is a quest, and in the end it will be glorious. A story for those who watch to tell their children.

If I had not believed that, I couldn't have ever agreed to ally with her.

"Dinner is in an hour. You can use this time to get used to the Capitol," Krissi says as I force my attention back to her. Elliah, the girl that can never pay attention to much of anything, is looking out the window at the Capitol buildings spread out below. Up here on the eleventh floor, pretty much all you can see is a field of rooftops, stretching off into the distance. It is a nice view, I must admit... if you forget the fact that the only reason we're here is to die.

Elliah wanders off, eyes wide. For someone with such a short attention span as her, there is plenty to keep her occupied here. I'm glad. It means that she's happy. And isn't that what allies should want? For your ally to be happy? It's not as though I've ever really had friends that I can compare this relationship to. What Elliah and I have is more like... a sibling relationship, anyways.

Like what she said on the train.

_"You? Help me? You're no older than me and just as hopeless as I am. Sorry, but I don't think you can." I was letting my fear talk, but it didn't seem to matter what I said at this point. She was the one that had approached me, after all._

_"I could too. I help my little brothers plenty." Her blue eyes flashed in protest._

Now that I thought about it, our decision to be allies had been a bit abrupt. But everything about this was abrupt, everything about this made no sense. And since we were about to die, anyways, nothing really mattered. If she decided she wanted to spend her last days with a hallucinating freak, so be it. If I decided that I wanted to spend my last days with the shyest, most easily distracted girl I've ever met... so be it.

* * *

I'm lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling above. But there's nothing there. This room opens up into the night sky above, a sky that is studded with stars even if the windows tell me it's only just nearing sunset. But the fantasy world has never regarded reality as anything more than a stubbornly persistant illusion.

I wonder which is real.

Anyone else would say that the world we were born into, the real one, is the one that matters. But for someone that lives his whole life in a never-shifting, ever-changing world like this learns to question reality very, very quickly.

"Are you there, Alari?"

Of course she is. My little sister is always there, always watching over me.

"I'm scared, Alari. So is Elliah. We're all scared, even if we pretend we aren't. Isn't that funny?" I let out a humorless laugh, closing my eyes. The stars are still there when I open them, swirls of red now beginning to creep across the night sky like some twisted display of light. Blood red. Flame red. A color I can't escape, ever since my sister's blood-soaked entrance into this world, when the visions started coming back. When the darkness crept back into my life.

"Will you wait for me?" I whisper. "I don't want to be alone, Alari. Wait for me, okay?"

There's a soft chiming of bells in response, and I smile. She'll be there. She'll always be there for me.

"Cyrus?"

I sit bolt upright, eyes wide and heart pounding, to see Lili Farrow, our mentor, staring down at me. She stands in the open doorway, one hand on the doorknob, hear tilted to one side as she regards me. I wonder how much she's heard.

"Who were you talking to?" she asks, entering the room fully. The Victor of the Third Hunger Games is tall, with a commanding look in her dark eyes. I don't remember how she won her Games. I don't think I want to ask her, either. There's something about her that doesn't exactly welcome random personal questions. But she's a good mentor, as far as I can tell.

"Myself." And it's not exactly a lie, either. Alari is part of me.

"That might not be the most prudent thing to do where others can see you," Lili says as she sits at the edge of the bed. She still has that look in her eyes, that look that seems to be judging me, weighing my every word. I get the distinct feeling that she's trying to figure me out. "Unless you've decided that your angle is going to be the lovably crazy one."

"What do you mean?"

"The Capitol tends to jump at crazies. They love sadistic people, for example. And anyone with a tragic past that's messed with their mind." Her eyes meet mine and I shiver. There's a cold, hard look in them that seems to pierce me where I sit. "Is that your story?"

"No." Another half truth. I saw these things before Alari. They just... got worse afterwards.

She stands, and for an instant I can see a golden light around her, just like I saw around Dryad when she came to say goodbye. There's also a crown on Lili's head, tall and gold. She does make quite the queen- strong, regal, noble. But also great and terrible.

"Do you want to live, Cyrus?" she asks in a deceptively friendly tone. I can hear the steel that runs under her words, though.

"I think I'm supposed to."

"You're not answering my question. Do you want to live or not?"

I hesitate. On the one hand, Dryad's waiting at home for me. Her and the voices in her head and her drunk mother. And I suppose my parents want me to come home, too- I'm their only living child, after all. I doubt that they really want to have to lay me down beside Alari in the District Eleven graveyard. Yet that's the problem- Alari. If I'm freed from this world, would I see her again? Would I get to thank her for saving my life time and again?

_Wait for me, Alari._ My own words come back to me now. Wait for me, Alari, because I'm coming to join you soon.

_But what has she saved you for? _something else whispers. _If she wanted you to die, wouldn't she have left you to the shadows long ago? Wouldn't she have let you die on your own?_

Why go to the effort of protecting me if she didn't want me to live?

"I want to live," I mutter, looking away. The room suddenly seems too hot to bear. The snow has all melted, it's raining fire now. Lili stands in a pool of flame, lit from below by the hellish flames, regarding me as though she can't even feel them. And I suppose she can't, since the fire that consumes the room is nothing but a product of the fantasy world.

"It's always good to hear that from someone I'm supposed to protect," she says dryly. "Would I be correct in assuming that you and Elliah will be allying this year?"

I nod, unable to speak. My throat is dry. The hot air in this room seems to suck all the moisture from my body. The flames lick at me, but I can't feel them either. Are they real? Does it matter? It's real to me.

"Dinner is in five minutes. I'll see you there." And completely unaware of the fire that surrounds me, Lili sweeps out of the room.

* * *

Elliah rushes in even later than me, cheeks flushed and red hair flying. "I'm sorry I'm late!" she gasps. "The view from my window of this illustrious city is simply entrancing. I could not tear myself away."

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. She's so easily distracted. And the way she talks, using such big words... it's different from the rest of District Eleven. And that's good. I think that of all the girls in the whole District, she's the only one that could make this so bearable. Maybe it's just that she's so like the sister I never had a chance to have.

"Sit down, Elliah darling," Krissi simpers. As usual, the Escort's tone of voice does not fail to wipe the smile from my face. What right does she, a pampered and elite Capitol citizen, have to speak thus to us? As though we were children with no more knowledge of this world than the smallest baby? We know more than she will ever learn in this sheltered bubble of nothingness she lives in.

Unsurprisingly, Elliah is unfazed. She pulls up a chair and sits down, regarding the food in front of her with wide, wondering eyes. "I do not believe that I have ever seen such a banquet in my life," she murmurs. "That pink thing- oh!" She turns to Krissi, smiling. "Do you know what that gold-roofed structure is that I can observe from my bedroom window?"

"That, my dear, is the Capitol Research Institute. A most fascinating place-"

I tune out what Krissi is saying, deciding to concentrate on the food in front of me. Trust Elliah to be able to make the Escort like her. It seems impossible to dislike the little red-head. I'll let her speak, she's far better than me at that.

The floor beneath us is a shifting sea, water splashing up against the table legs and soaking into our chairs. We are floating on the surface of something wild and dark and blue. I can smell salt and the scent of rotting fish- vestiges of a world I have never seen. I wonder how my fantasy world can conjure up an image of the ocean when the largest body of water I'd ever seen before the train ride was the lake we used to swim in as children. Though, of course, this is hardly the most realistic vision- I doubt that a table piled with food, two children, and two adults would actually float like this if placed on the surface of a large body of water.

I feel someone staring at me and look up. Lili is regarding me from across the table, an amused look on her face. I look away, unaccountably embarrassed, and shove a mouthful of some kind of meat into my mouth. The explosion of flavor makes me sit upright, eyes wide- I don't think I've ever had something this good in my life. And there's enough of it here to feed a whole family for a month.

"Hey, Cyrus, pass me the lemonade?" Elliah tugs on my sleeve. There's a small smear of gravy on the side of her mouth, and I resist the urge to wipe it away. She is my ally. She is not my sister, even if I regard her that way. Her red hair swirls about her face, throwing off sparks that float to the water and sizzle as they die there.

"Sure."

As my hand closes around the pitcher handle, she adds, "What do you see right now?"

I freeze, feeling my heart literally stop for a few seconds. A numb, cold feeling settles over me. _She did not just ask that. She did not._

"What does she mean, Cyrus?" Lili asks, voice sharp.

I glance at Elliah, into those innocent blue eyes that I know hide something more. "I see a little girl with fire in her hair, sitting on the ocean." The words come out calmly, placidly, giving no hint of the flashing anger I feel beneath. So she wants me to reveal this secret, does she? So be it. I have nothing to lose. Let us eat and drink and betray each others secrets, for tomorrow we die.

"That's interesting," Elliah says, apparently unaware of the questioning glances Lili (and Krissi) are giving us. "I think that- hey, is that chocolate cake?" She points to the large brown dessert, a look of joy on her face. "I once tasted chocolate. It was at Mayor Cultio's daughter's birthday party. It was simply heavenly. May I have some?"

Krissi nods. "Of course you may, child."

And just like that, the attention is off of me. Elliah chatters on, interrupting herself and eagerly seeking both women's attention. I lean back with a sigh, feeling the ocean shift beneath me. The fire's still there, its red and orange hues reflected in the dark depths of the sea.

I think that living in the fantasy world would be easier. Being in a world where everything changes means that nothing matters, because the next cycle will drive it all away. But living here, in the real world, means that every choice you make is forever. It's fixed. You can't go back and change the past, and you can't just erase it all, either.

Well, it's all probably going to end soon, anyways. It doesn't really matter if I want to live or not, because there's really no way I can survive this.


	16. Tardy Advice

**A/N- **Almost forgot to update, thank you my dearest Teddy (Cashmere67) for actually reminding me ;D

* * *

**Phoenix Whitter, District Six Male**

**First Night in the Capitol**

_**TheTargWoods**_

* * *

"I think we have a problem", Snowdrop interrupt's our dinner, "Your mentor is half an hour late, it is important that you get your questions answered now before you run off training with weapons weaker than a grain of rice tomorrow morning".

"Do you have something against rice?", Greylyn used sarcasm to create a positive mood. That's one of many things I do not understand about her, how can she remain so positive when she's being brought here to learn how to kill people?

"As much as I'd love to discuss the richness and purity of the rice's soul now isn't the time, we must try to stay on task", Snowdrop batted her eye's in discomfort at the thought of her tribute's not meeting our replacement mentor. She swallowed a chunk of pineapple with an obvious expression of anxiety, "well since we're here for another twenty minutes before bath and bed lets discuss something, any weapon preferences?"

Greylyn shook her head, "It's best not to share"

Snowdrop tilted her head at that response in confusion, "well, what about you Phoenix? Is there something you feel OK sharing?"

"Well, I'm pretty good at inventing thing's, back home I used to build engines from scratch," I smiled remembering my latest invention, "If I can get my hands on random crap around the cornucopia I think I could manage to find a way to keep my blood where it belongs. I can guess that Greylyn's dad will keep her alive long enough, after all he is the mayor".

Greylyn gave me a scowled look indicating how far I took my humor, her eyes then became unfocused as if imagining her own hidden skills and plots. Something tells me that she is my biggest opponent.

"This will be an interesting game, I am sure the Capitol knows you as the daughter of the gracious and hard-working mayor of District 6. Phoenix you should try to make something of yourself for when the interview's come up that way more people will know who the boy from 6 is", Snowdrop basically just told me how unpopular I am as if I didn't know how much everyone already hates me.

"I guess you'll just have to show them how strong you are", Greylyn let out an innocently annoying chuckle, "you must have some strength"

Snowdrop laughed, "Now now, if I had to choose between brain's and brawn's I would choose the brain's and that is what Phoenix has to offer".

Greylyn raised an eyebrow, "Yes, and when someone is running after you with a blade sharp enough to send your head flying how much use will your brain be?"

"Hopefully Phoenix would use that brain before his head goes flying, the most dangerous thing to do is run around an arena with your weapons especially if there's ice or rocks or trees that can work in anyone's favor", Snowdrop attempted to stick up for me.

"He really doesn't have much more of a chance than me does he?", Greylyn asked

"That's enough!", I stood so fast my chair fell over, "everyone in this place has a chance and if we're lucky enough the career's will injure themselves before they find the last remaining tribute. That's when intelligence kick's you into victory."

"You better pray you didn't rip the velvet on that chair, it's worth more than all the intelligence in the world", Snowdrop gestured for an avox to retrieve my chair and check for 'injuries', "Sit down and have a conversation!"

I sat back down slightly embarrassed, my anger always goes out of control even Balthier thought so," Yes continue your conversation about how my head's going to be sent flying."

"As I was saying, we don't have a good chance do we?", Greylyn asked again.

"You've watched previous games I'm sure, and you know what you are up against", Snowdrop took a sip of juice, "It is different every year it all depends on what you make of it try to use everything to your advantage even tribute's, having an alliance is smart so long as you've got the right person. Becoming attached to someone is probably the only stupid thing to do in an alliance."

"The only stupid thing you could do?", I questioned her response to Greylyn, "Wouldn't killing them be stupid?"

She swallowed a second sip, "No, the point of the game is to kill or be killed. It's dumb if you let them kill you but not if you get them first."

"Well I don't plan on killing my allies", I shook my head at the thought, "that is betrayal."

"That is the Hunger Games", Greylyn corrected, "I don't know about you but I'm doing what it takes to go home." I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or serious, she seems unsure of herself so far but more sure than I am.

"That's the spirit!", Snowdrop fluttered her way out of her seat towards Greylyn giving her a smooth kiss on the forehead, "this is exactly the attitude of a victor! Phoenix you should try not to be so sensitive about all of this, it is life or death or should I say life and death. You have the choice on deciding which one of those titles you leave the arena with and I hope you find such confidence to choose life."

"I need to lay down for a moment", I was grabbed by Greylyn as I tried to get out of my chair.

"You have exactly 10 minutes to get back here", she let go of my arm and continued to speak with Snowdrop mentioning my name faintly as I entered my room. I watched the life and fun of the Captiol's minions as they ran from shop to show outside of my floor 6 window.

Believing that I was in the privacy of my presence I let my emotion's flow out of my heavy eyes and onto my cheek's. I never realized how often I cried, I'm worse than I baby. The baby, I wonder if Wina will have morning sickness tomorrow, I hope she'll be alright. I miss them all so much. I let my breath turn to sob's and began to feel sorry for myself, why am I here? Oh yeah, I'm here because I have bad luck. I really hate being such an irritating suck to people but maybe they are all right, I'm not strong enough to fight the girl from district 1 let alone the rest of the guy's here. Now I am beginning to doubt if I am even smart enough to be here, I probably wont make it out of the training center alive let alone the bloodbath.

"Oh, umm this crying need's to stop", An uncertain voice approached me. "Don't worry I wont tell anyone but Snowdrop just got word that he's on his way, and she wants you to start heading down to the dining room again."

The mayor's daughter is the last person I ever thought would make the effort to comfort me seeing how she's barely a baby, "What?"

"I'm sorry I'm not used to this whole comforting-grown-men stuff, but I'm here if you need to talk", she looked uncertain of herself, "We really have to get going or we'll have to tell the mentor you were too busy crying to meet him."

"Then maybe you should just go, I don't care anymore. You guys don't think I can win anyway", I felt guilty until she replied.

"Maybe you should stop being a cry baby", she wished she could swallow her words, "Oh no, please don't start crying again, all as I'm trying to do is help."

"Fine.", I pulled my heavy body out of the bed and walked towards Snowdrop who awaited us in the door way.

Each and every step I take away from our room towards the iron door back to the dining room I feel a hundred pounds heavier. The path I walk is unfamiliar and everything I ever thought about the Capitol is exaggerated by the hundreds. My eyes probe every inch of expense decorating the smallest of spaces in our hotel, my every move alarms Snowdrop as she fears that I would knock over a pricey vase.

"Having fun without me I see.", a booming voice practically throw's me out of my shell, " I am supposed to be your mentor but if you can do it without me I'll just head home"

The three of us turn to see a large man standing just of 6 feet tall in a blue suit wrapped over his large body. He sport's a bald head and more fat muscles than I ever thought possible, even Snowdrop was taken by surprise, I am guessing she has never met him before.

"Had you have shown up on time we would not be having this conversation right now", Greylyn smiled kindly reversing his words in our favor, "not that it's a problem to blame other's right Phoenix?"

"Yeah, right", I rolled my eye's at her statement.

"You're nearly an hour late Josiah, the kids need to sleep soon", Snowdrop glared at him and approached him with a monstrous manner even though he towered over her by a foot, "Do you know how badly I would like to smack that fat right off your face?"

Greylyn and I both looked at each other in surprise trying to swallow our laughter before it became a distraction. Maybe the smaller tributes should come see this.

"Well thanks to you miss perfect Snowflake I may have to go back home and use the washroom, does that sound like a plan?", I've never heard a man indicate he was about to pee his pants over a small woman scaring him before.

"Snowdrop! The name is Snowdrop!", her perfectly white makeup could not hide the veins that began to pop out of her forehead flushing her face in a deep shade of red.

Josiah laughed until his face matched her's in color, "Alright back on task who do we have here? You are Phoenix and you are Greylyn anything else you have to say about yourself that is irrelevant to the games is not important to me. I'm only here to make sure you have what it takes to bring home the prize, I do not care about how you got your talents I just want to know what they are. And I am not responsible for any speaking preparations so don't think twice about asking me how to act on your interviews that is Snowdrop's job and I guess your prep team is useful as well. To make a long story short I don't care are we clear?"

Greylyn and I dropped our jaws in disbelief, Josiah is a tough person definitely tough enough to make my brother's cry, "Yes we're clear.", an in sync response from the both of us.

"Now, lets grab a seat and talk strategy", he sat down and waited until we seated ourselves, " This is your first night away from mommy and daddy right? Well get used to it because at least one of you will never see them again, but we can discuss ways to make sure that the person who does is you. I don't know much about the arenas but I can tell you one thing: surviving the arena will be just as hard as surviving a wound. The blood bath is your first step, do you know what happens when you're on that hunk of metal waiting for the starting gong?", we shook our heads, "There are hundreds of tiny bombs beneath you, if you step off to early it will explode and sadly might not kill you right away, they will be deactivted when you are released. There's treasure all over the place and by treasure I mean bags full of survival goods as you get closer to the cornucopia the bags are replaced with weapons and food. Now, there's already a 23/24 per cent chance of dying but if you go to get those good's you may die sooner than you bet your cash on. I wouldn't worry too much about food and water at the cornucopia if I were you, the arena is bound to have water, plants and animals to feed off of. I want to hear what you guys will do when you're in the midst of the blood bath."

"I don't know", Greylyn shook her head, "I really don't know what I would do."

He continued, "It's not a matter of what you would do it's a matter of what you are going to do. Anyway's, if you can fight then stay and fight just watch out for 1,2 and 4. However, if you want to find safety right away then run but just know you wont have anything to defend yourself with in the days to come."

"Why do you say that?", I asked, "Can't we go back when everyone's gone?"

"You could but at this point the bigger alliance may already have taken the remaining good's to their camp if not the Capitol will pick up what was left along with the fallen tributes.", he filled in, "But that is only the beginning, you have to find a place to sleep, hide yourself deep in the arena stay away from caves and hollow tree's. Caves are a haven for hunters, there's always something inside, and if you aren't a hunter then assume there is prey already living there. Shall we move in to the subject of combat?"

"I think they should get some sleep", Snowdrop yawned curled up in the corner of her couch, "we still have some time together before the games begin."

"I wouldn't mind some sleep," Greylyn stood up and stretched her arms up towards the ceiling, "It's only 7:30pm but we've had a long day."

"Suit yourself Greylyn I wouldn't mind discussing combat", I focused on the pleasure in Josiah's expression.

"Fine, I'm not passing up a lecture", Greylyn gave in and sat back down next to me.

"First thing's first, just because you've been stabbed it doesn't mean you're going to drop dead instantly, you still have a fair amount of time to KO the opponent. Second, people take more damage from behind, which is why it is natural for us to always face our body towards the opponent, if you can get yourself behind them unnoticed you may be able to kick some flesh. Last, just because they are on the ground that doesn't mean they are out of the game, a staggered human is the most frightening beast to fight so do not turn away from them for a second, use this in your favor."

"How can we use it in our favor?" asked Greylyn.

"If you are one of two left standing and have taken your last imaginable wound let them think you're out, they might look away long enough for you to give them an instant final blow. Make sense kid?"

"Yeah, but what if we can't move?" she looked puzzled, "If our body cannot keep itself up how can we still fight?"

"The answer to your question is adrenaline, when the time comes, which it will, you will not be in control of your body. The idea of death caused by a threat becomes so terribly painful that nature kicks in especially after being away from civilization for 2 weeks, you will embrace your inner animal and amaze yourself I just hope to the heavens it works."

After we finished our lecture Greylyn and I headed to our rooms but I doubt either of us were going to sleep any time soon after hearing half of the things he told us. I grabbed my notepad from my father and wrote down the key information that I have learned from Josiah's words of wisdom. I really hope the Capitol doesn't take this from me, its more than just a book of cheat's. It's the only thing that I have left of my father.


	17. Star of the Show

**A/N- **Next Capitol Chapter guys, thanks for all the support so far. Enjoy ;D

* * *

**Rima Vertes, District Five Female**

**Preparation for Chariot Rides**

_**The Light Holder**_

* * *

"Rima, Ryan, it's time." Kristina's voice breaks the cold silence, desperate to be warm and encouraging. _So _desperate, in fact, that it has the absolute opposite effect.

I've been dreading this moment for an awfully long amount of time.

_Toughen up. Weaknesses are stupid._

Though a bit hesitant, I manage to step forward, breaking my rather comfortable position of leaning against the wall. I lift my head a bit, eyes widening in discomfort once I spy the multi-colored _creatures _staring right at me. One of them, the boy, has bulging yellow eyes that seem as if they're about to slip out of their sockets. Disgusted, I turn to Kristina with my pleading, innocent look but she simply brushes me off.

"Come along, girl," the boy's voice is nasally, sounding feminine and like a young girl's would sound. He tries to take my hand, but I swat it away, tagging behind them like a piece of rubber being pulled along a car.

* * *

_This is so incredibly stupid._

"What's your name again, sweetie?" an extraordinarily tall woman asks me in an irritatingly sweet tone. It's funny, how she towers over her fellow prep team member, but must get a little annoying after awhile. She has glowing neon skin, a very radiant yellow, as if there's just one humongous highlighter stuck inside her body. Her hair is a brilliant white, gelled up into a diamond shape on the top of her head. The facial features themselves are quite pretty, but then again I have no idea if those are even natural or not.

"Rima," I answer, the coldness that pops in my tone not quite reciprocating the strange woman's.

"Rita!" the man claps his hands together. "Lovely to have you here, darling."

For the fight to the death. Yes, wonderful.

The woman moves to stand before me, a smile that looks genuine but is probably forced upon her face.

"You're so little, you're like a miniature person!" she squeals, dashing off to who-knows-where. Probably to find some makeup to cake my face in, I don't know. I don't actually know what they do to the people whilst prepping for the chariots, but I'm already undressed and it's fucking _cold. _All they've even done so far is smother me in this weird red shit, that apparently 'removes all dirt from my body'.

"You mean short?" I mutter, receiving no reply.

The woman trots back over, holding a basket of multi-colored bottles. "Rita, time for a bath!"

_Baths are stupid. I haven't taken once since I was eight._

When I was younger, showers frightened me. I was always a teensy bit afraid that since it wasn't plugged, a hand or tentacle or something would reach out from wherever and grab me.

A stupid fear, yes, but I was a child and children are stupid.

The man grabs my arm, yanking me a bit roughly towards the left of the room. I squeal, not wanting to be _led _anywhere again, and walk over to the bathtub on my own.

"Let's do her hair first, yeah?" the woman says, reaching into the basket and pulls out a rather small, V-shaped yellow bottle. She takes a glance at me, and apparently sees that my hair isn't wet yet. "Dear, lean back a little."

Does she think I'm an idiot? I roll my eyes, lying down and letting the water soak through my hair. It's cold water, which makes it a bit undesirable, but I don't mind all that much. The cold is nice, since it keeps heat away. But then heat is nice, because it keeps the cold away.

Whatever. I don't like either of them now.

The lady, the _stupid _lady, pulls me up by my hair. I squeal, irritated as she pours something into it. She lets go of my hair, but still holds me in a sitting-up position by my shoulders, rubbing the stuff into my hair and telling me to let it sit there for a while.

What are they even doing to my hair? It's already soft. It's already shiny. What else is there?

The man comes to the side of the tub, holding two small white bottles and numerous little utensils. "Hold out your hand, Rita."

_My name is not Rita, you moronic piece of shit. _I hold out my hand, a bit reluctantly, and the man immediately grabs it. He examines it for a moment, before grinning and filing my thumbnail with one of the instruments. It doesn't hurt, surprisingly, since the sharp object looked like it was going to hurt quite a lot.

He opens one of the bottles, revealing a brush on the top of the thing and promptly dipping the brush into the liquid. He pulls the brush out, smoothing it over each of my nails rather quickly. Doing the same with the other bottle, I find myself with two coatings of white nail polish on my fingers. I open my mouth, to ask why on earth there are _two, _when the man holds my hand into the light. It reacts magnificently, creating a little array of sparkles on each one of my nails.

Smiling mindlessly, the man runs his index finger over the skin on my wrist.

"Quite soft already, I don't actually think we'll be needing anything for the skin."

_Wow, intriguing words you speak._

My shoulders relax, just as my hair is grabbed once again. The woman's grip, a bit stronger than the man's and painful due to her nails, wraps around my arm. She hauls me out of the bathtub, dragging me along to some other part of the room. I allow her to drag me, since I'm a bit lazy at the moment and she doesn't seem to have any problem with dragging me.

Besides, people_ should _be the ones taking me places. I don't have to work. I don't need to, really.

I'm shoved onto a rather large chair, complete with wheels at the bottom. Lovely to know that I can just wheel away any time they're not looking.

Speaking of stares, it's quite irritating to have these idiots looking at me so much. Can't they put bags over their heads? Or something? I don't like it when people look at me. It makes me feel angry, and annoyed, and just... stupid.

_Toughen up, bitch. You're going to have thousands of people looking at you in nearly half an hour, are you really stupid enough to complain about stares right now?_

Heat reaches my ears, and I jump up a bit. Startled, I glance upwards and see a blow-dryer in the woman's hands. A bit relieved that I wasn't being turned into a human flame as a chariot costume, I lean back in my chair, allowing the heat to seem more calming than alarming.

I try not to think while my hair is being dried. I don't really want to think, anyway, since I'm getting a bit nervous. The fact that _so _many people are going to be watching Ryan and me tonight is absolutely petrifying. My plan is to smile and wave, to appear friendly. Will I really be able to do that with so much fear in my mind? And I don't even know what my chariot costume is yet.

The heat stops. I run a finger through my hair, a bit stunned that it took so little time, but don't get much time to actually process anything before the woman is tugging on my hair upwards, most likely pulling it into either a ponytail or bun. I hope it's a bun, honestly, but it's not like I'd throw a fit if it wasn't. Fits are immature, and quite stupid.

"Your hair is _fantastic,_ quite easy to handle, darling." I believe this is intended as a compliment, yet I don't feel like responding.

I perk my head up a bit, staring into the mirror and seeing that my hair is in a ponytail. Displeasure seeps through me awfully quick, and in defense I try to force it out.

_Stupid._

"Rita, sweetheart, we're going to call in your stylist. She'll get you into your outfit, and then we'll come back to put on some makeup, alright?" they don't wait for my response, scampering into the hall and calling out, "Elsa!"

I hear the _clickety-clack_ of heels tapping against the ground, and find myself staring at a tall, thin blue-haired woman. She wears all black, a ridiculously long-sleeved shirt over black pants, along with the black heels. Her hair is rather short, cut rather bluntly at her chin is a dark blue. It reminds me of my walls, really, and in a matter of moments I'm somewhat homesick.

_Get over it._

"Rita, right?" Elsa addresses me, stalking over to a rack in the corner of the room. I take a minute to examine her legs, or may I say sticks? First of all, they're long. Unnaturally long, really, and obviously had some extensive work done on them. And then... they're terribly skinny. Her thighs don't even touch, and don't look as if they are anywhere near ever touching. The legs are disproportionate with the rest of her body, and it's... frightening to look at, really.

She begins walking towards me, a silvery bag in her hands. She empties the bag, revealing a small, odd bubbly thing. "Put this on."

"Put _what _on?" I snap, but I receive no response. Instead, the thing is thrown at me. I tug on the ends of it, and am a bit relieved that it seems to stretch alright. I find a rather large hole, and take that to be where my head is supposed to fit through.

After I have the thing on, which I suppose is meant to be a dress, I glance in the mirror.

It's s_hort._ Excruciatingly short. It leaves the majority of my thigh and overall leg on show, and uncomfortably tight on the parts of my body that are actually covered. There are practically no sleeves, except for a little strip of bubble on each shoulders, leaving my arms out in the open as well.

"Those are bulbs, to represent power. They light up and everything!" Elsa explains, poking one of the bubbles near my bellybutton. "You look absolutely adorable!"

_This is stupid. This is annoying, and stupid, and aggravating, and frustrating, and this entire ordeal is just plain stupid._

"I look like a child prostitute."

"Ah well, you know different people have different tastes," Elsa waves it off, ignoring the disgusted look I shoot at her, "Mantle, Talia, come over here to do Rita's makeup!"

"Rima," I murmur.

The man and woman rush over to me, and by now I can assume that the man's name is Mantle and the woman is Talia. They seem to study my face, for a few minutes, before huddling up in some sort of discussion.

_A discussion of pure stupidity, since that's all that ever seems to come out of either of their mouths._

And, they're talking loudly. I can tell what they're saying anyway.

"I don't actually think we should put too much on her. She's little, she looks little, and if we just kept it to some mascara and lipstick then we'd be able to keep that look, right?"

"I suppose so."

Talia turns to me, a black wand in her hand. She smiles, with an eerie little tint, like a tiger who's just about to pounce.

"Stand still, dear," she whispers, stepping closer and doing something to my eye. She's _brushing _my eyelash, if that makes any sense, since the wand she uses is much like a regular brush but it seems to add thickness. Mantle joins in after a while, taking a very pale lipstick and rubbing it against my lips.

I feel like a doll by the time they're done with me. And I _hate _dolls.

"Done!" Mantle cries out, jumping backwards in sudden glee. As he celebrates, Talia shoots me a smile and guides me to the door. "I'm afraid it's time for you to leave. Don't worry, we'll see each other again, Rita."

_How do they still have my name wrong after this long?_

"My name is Rima, you ignorant assholes." I spit onto the ground, before turning on my heel towards the door and stomping out.

I can't wait until this whole thing is done and over with.


	18. Just Pretend

**A/N-** To all the authors sometime very soon we shall start giving out stuff related to the Games (I hope so) and to all readers thanks for sticking with us! This has definitely proved more successful than Thirteen, anyway enjoy this chapter :D

* * *

**Greylyn Conway, District Six Female**

**Chariot Rides**

_**District11-Olive**_

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I feel a cold hand touch my back once more and I stiffen at the sudden chill that rushes up my spine. The same, now familiar hand grabs hold of my shoulder and turns me around to see the wide, green eyes of my stylist, Fabian. His pale, tattooed hands straighten the hem of my pinstripe dress and I stand eerily still to allow the strange man to finish his work. Beside me, Phoenix flinches under the careful hands of his stylist. She shakes her head and continues as Phoenix squirms, her fingertips taking hold of the side of his face and wiping uneven makeup away from his skin. I suppress a giggle as I watch him; probably one of the funniest people I have ever met, and definitely one of the most sensitive.

Fabian cups my chin with his hand and lifts it so that I am looking straight up at him. "Smile brightly, darling. Do that and you'll have them eating out of the palm of your hand."

I give him my best smile and he grins down at me, releasing my chin from his cupped hands. I begin to walk away but before I can he turns me around again and pulls me in for a quick hug. I take in the strange, perfumed odour from his soft hair and hear his voice soften, warm breath coating my ear. "I know you can do this, Greylyn. Just make them love you."

He pulls away and quickly adjusts the tops of my white sleeves. I smile up at him, unsure how to respond to his kindness. It's strange to find such warmth in someone that everyone seems to hate. Capitol stylists are among those people that children in District Six make fun of, claiming that their hair was higher than their intelligence and that if they were truly 'artists' that they would find a way to make District Six look better than what we traditionally were presented as in the Tribute Parade. I don't think they're all that bad though, Fabian seems nicer than most of the district people I've met.

Fabian gets caught up talking to Phoenix's stylist, Arria, complimenting her choice of eyeliner for Phoenix and I. Phoenix squirms out from Arria's grasp after undergoing one final swipe of face powder and walks over to me. My lips break out into a small smile before I can stop them and Phoenix huffs in response. "I need to get away from her before my face becomes a canvas. Do you want to go look around?"

"Are you sure we should? It might be starting soon," I counter. Most of the tributes had not even shown up yet, but those that had were already lined up alongside their chariots with their stylists. The Mentors were not there yet, as most of them were doing interviews beforehand about their respective tributes. Josiah told us that he would be there to help us off the chariots, though, and I can't decide whether having him absent makes me happy or disappointed. He isn't like Fabian, warm and comforting, but he is more like my Father, which makes his presence almost comforting in its own regard. He doesn't really seem to like either me or Phoenix, but his advice is fairly helpful even if he isn't a real Mentor. I think it's a bit of an unfair disadvantage to me and Phoenix that we won't be mentored by an actual Victor, but I think Josiah is the next best thing we could hope to get.

"I don't care," he hisses with frustration and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at his comical expression. "I need to get away from Arria, she's driving me crazy!"

I roll my eyes but follow him as he stalks off, walking with strange movements in the tight navy pants. My dress keeps me from walking too quickly and the tightly tied shoes prevent too much movement, so by the time I catch up to Phoenix we are already at the far end of the stable. Elevator doors lie to our right and the girl and boy from District Eleven shuffle out as one of the sets slide open. The boy is short and thin with dark skin and eyes, and he looks about my age or maybe a year or so older. The girl is also about his height, with bright red hair and a dazed look in her crystal blue eyes. Each of them wears a green tunic under a gold colored cloak, with rings of leaves over their heads and bits of gold makeup around their eyes. A stray leaf flies off of the girl's head wreath ad her stylist runs to catch it, pinning it back onto her head as they make their way towards their chariot.

I turn away from the duo and back toward Phoenix, whose frustrated expression has been replaced by the pinched up face that I have come to recognize so well. "You're not going to cry again, are you?"

"No," he chokes out but I can already see the tears brimming in his eyes and I move awkwardly to put my hand on his arm. I don't know what it is about him, but he is the only person that I am unsure of myself around. I have never met someone like him, or at least not someone like him in this type of situation. I have never had to comfort someone whose problem was related to something other than losing a favourite toy or having someone talk about them behind their back. Really the only one I ever remember comforting at any point is Vivian. Not some strange boy that I have only just met, who seems to wear his emotions on his face in exactly the matter that I was taught to avoid.

I think I should be scared too, maybe even sad, but I can't find the emotion to anymore. As soon as I left the Justice Building the tears stopped, I knew I was probably on cameras all over Panem and I knew my Father would disapprove of me showing such fragility in view of the public eye. I no longer felt the need to cry, not on the never-ending train ride here, not in the Remake Centre with strange people prodding at my hair and skin, and not here in a room full of strangers suited up in ridiculous costumes. I've seen the other tributes cry, a few at their Reapings, Phoenix nearly every time I've seen him. All of them older than me and yet my eyes stay dry. Here I am, the youngest tribute with nearly no chance at living more than a couple hours after the Launch, and I don't feel scared.

My parents trained me to carry this emotional strength with me all the time. Years of living in perfect view of everyone in District Six molded me into someone emotionally stronger than what a twelve year old girl should be. After leaving District Six behind, my Father and Mother behind, all those glares of accusation and hatred behind, I didn't feel anything anymore besides calmness. Maybe this was always supposed to happen, me being Reaped to show my district that even the Mayor's family was not untouchable. Maybe now they wouldn't use my Father as a scapegoat to everything going wrong in their lives now that they have seen that his is as much under the Capitol's thumb as they are.

For now I'm not scared, maybe that will change in a couple days. It very well could, but for now I can't make myself feel the emotions that I am supposed to be feeling right now. It makes me feel calm, knowing that there is one thing I can still control in my life, myself. I can't make the Capitol take me back home. I can't make the Hunger Games disappear or make dead tributes rise from the dead and live again. But, I can control me. I can control what I feel and what I show. I can do what I have been trained to do since birth, I can be strong. Maybe it won't be enough to save me, it likely won't be, but this is one thing I know how to do. One thing that is familiar to me and right now it gives me calmness.

"How cute, District Six are train conductors again, that's sure to stand out."

I turn around to face the direction that the voice has come from. Phoenix looks at me with wide eyes and behind him I see an older girl with curly brown hair and blue eyes. She eyes our costumes critically with a cruel smile and just the look of the girl is enough to make my blood go cold. It's obvious she's a Career, if not from the arrogant glint in her eyes than from the nets and fishing line that made up her costume and marked her as District Four.

Phoenix suddenly flails around to face the girl and immediately pushes himself into the wall after seeing her. Phoenix was probably a good few inches taller than her but it was clear that she exceeded him in muscle and ability. No offense to Phoenix but he wasn't exactly the strongest looking guy here. The District Four girl throws her head back in a dramatic laugh and eyes Phoenix with a predatory smile. She moves towards him and tries to look him in the eye but despite his height advantage, Phoenix shrivels under her gaze.

Satisfied, the girl turns to me, looking down at me in the same way she looked up at Phoenix. I don't waver like Phoenix under her critical glare, but instead do as I have always done, become unreadable to their eyes. She doesn't waver either, not that I really expected her to. Finally I break her gaze and stare down at the floor. I don't understand it but her eyes cut into me more than the eyes of anyone that had ever visited my family. Maybe it's because I knew then that none of them could hurt me, but in a few days I know that she can.

I feel a hard shove on both my shoulders and I fall back to land on the concrete floor. I blink tears away from my eyes before they can even begin to form and look up towards the District Four girl. She glares down at me with that same arrogant grin and it's all I can do to keep her gaze this time. She won't see that I'm scared of her, never again will someone see me cry.

"Bloodbaths, both of you," she laughs and turns towards her own chariot where her similarly dressed district partner stands with who I presume to be their stylists. A purple haired female and an overly tattooed man that pull at their costumes and smooth their hair just like Fabian and Arria had done with Phoenix and I.

I feel bony arms grab me from behind and pull me to my feet. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say with a smile and he nods apprehensively. "Are you alright?"

"Well other than my hurt pride and bruised shoulder I'm just great," he laughs half-heartedly and I smile.

"The bruised shoulder is your own fault, I've never seen anyone slam so hard into a wall without being pushed," I tease him and he rolls his eyes playfully.

We walk back towards our chariot, where Arria stands with her hands on her hips dramatically with Fabian standing next to her hiding a smile. As we approach her I hear her chattering on with her high-pitched voice, saying something that I can't quite decipher but recognize that it must be highly important in her eyes. Phoenix looks at me with annoyed eyes and my face breaks out in a small grin which he returns without hesitation.

Fabian gasps as he notices the wrinkles in my skirt from when I was pushed down and he frantically smoothes them out until the pinstriped skirt sits perfectly flat again.

I take the time to look around, and I can't help but agree with what the District Four girl had said earlier. In a room full of ridiculously over the top costumes, Phoenix and I are practically invisible in ours. My navy and white stripped dress puff out at the sides with the help of a white petticoat but it's nothing eye-catching. The matching hat with a wide brim fits the costume just right above my curly, brown hair but it won't stand out when compared to a costume like District Five where both tributes are tangled in flashing lights and wires. Phoenix's suspenders and white dress shirt compliment my costume but they're really nothing that could be noticed over the brown and red costumes of District Seven that give the illusion of burning wood. She was right, no one would notice Phoenix or myself amidst the flurry or colors and fabrics of the other districts.

"It's time to get in, Greylyn," Fabian tells me as he offers me a hand to help me up the steel ladder that would lead to the top of the chariot. "It's almost time for the parade to start."

I nod and take his hand, carefully climbing up the metal ladder so that the flat sole of my shoes wouldn't cause me to fall. When I get to the top Phoenix is already waiting for me, his white-knuckled hands gripped tightly to the side of the chariot. I settle myself beside him and take hold of the bar beside me, I know this must be completely safe or the Capitol would have already had tribute fall out over the past few years, but it feels better to know I'm secured. Our chariot rolls slowly forward as District One rides through the metal doors towards the muffled cheering of what must be thousands of Capitol citizens.

"Oh my god, oh my god," I hear Phoenix breathe beside me just before our chariot stops for a moment. "We're going to die, we're going to die, we're going to _die."_

"It's okay, we're not going to die," I assure him and he turns to me with widened eyes, his breaths raspy and quick. "Just calm down, you're completely safe."

I look around me as our chariot begins to move forward again to let District Two out and Fabian catches my eye from below and behind us. He points to his cheeks and smiles hugely, reminding me of his earlier advice.

"Smile Phoenix," I say and turn to him with my most dazzling smile. He looks at me as though I had just asked him to somersault out of the chariot.

"But I don't feel happy, Greylyn, how am I supposed to smile," he says without meeting my gaze, his eyes looking across the stable as the District three chariot begins to move.

"Just pretend, make people think you want to be here, that nothing makes you happier than parading around dressed in suspenders," I try again and this time a small grin comes onto his face. "Pretend that the wider you smile, the closer you are to getting to take all your makeup off."

His face breaks off into a grin and I match it, even letting out a small giggle when our chariot lurches forwards and he stumbles to grab hold of the bar once more. "I feel like I'm going to fall out."

I take hold of his hand and squeeze it tightly, "if you fall out, I guess we're both going over, so you better hold on."

Our chariot approaches the doors and the cheering that seemed so muffled before is much clearer now, the lights that had been distant now much closer than I thought possible. I catch Phoenix's eye one last time before we begin to move again and his smile falls a notch. I nod at him and he forces the smile back, turning forward to face the bright lights that swallow us into the deafening sound.

Cheers and chants block my ears so that I cannot even hear the sound of my own heartbeat over the noise. I turn my head to either side, smiling at the people that I cannot see in detail and waving with my free hand, the other tightly clutched by Phoenix who stands with a mechanical smile beside me. I hear shouts of names, but none that I can recognize or place to a district. No one cheers for me or for Phoenix, but I continue to smile and wave nonetheless, subconsciously listening for someone to cheer for District Six.

Our chariot stops and Phoenix and I both stumble forward, surprised by the sudden halt in movement. I catch myself quickly but Phoenix continues to fall forward, his weight pulling me along until we both hit the front bar with a sound I cannot make out over the cheering. We look at each other with wide eyes for a moment before Phoenix's face breaks out in another goofy grin and his chest shakes with nearly inaudible laughter.

"What's so funny?" I ask him and he looks at me in confusion, his laughter not so much as pausing for a moment. I get closer to him and he leans down to me, I cup his ear in my hands and repeat myself, louder this time. "I said, what's so funny?"

"I have no idea!" He chokes out between fits of laughter, and his face is so close to mine that I can hear him clearly. His laughter is contagious, and I find myself laughing along with him despite having no idea what he might have found laughable. No one can hear us over the roar of the crowd, and for once I didn't worry about what people were thinking about me or my behavior. We were given no attention anyway, what was the point. It felt good to laugh, I think for both of us. Maybe it was just a reaction of nerves that finally sent us over the edge into insanity, but I don't think that at this moment either of us cared.

Silence settles around us suddenly and I am able to hear one last snort from Phoenix before the City Circle becomes entirely, eerily, quiet. I see the tributes in front of us turn around to stare as Phoenix claps both hands over his mouth. The boy, tall and brown-eyed, has been shoved into a perfectly fitted suit and the girl in a fitted dress that brings attention to her slight, frail frame. Both outfits are made of the same black fabric with glowing red and yellow lines on them and I peg them immediately as District Three. The boy has a smile on his face that only widens upon seeing Phoenix and I, where as the girl turns him around swiftly to face the front as the President begins to speak.

"Welcome," she begins, her red painted lips part clearly to allow the chilling words to enter the microphone and echo in the ears of everyone present. "Tributes, welcome. Panem commemorates the twenty-four of you now, as you prepare yourself to take part in the 14th Annual Hunger Games."

My eyes don't leave the woman for a second, her image branding itself into my mind before I can stop it. The jet black hair that falls down her back and the blood red lips that send words echoing in our ears. The words send welcome but suddenly I feel none, the tone of her voice and the sharpness of her speech causing me to lean away from the front of the chariot as if I could disappear into the back before her eyes could find me. She looks at each chariot in turn as she speaks the necessary formalities, ensuring that each set of eyes is glued on her. My throat feels dry as her gaze settles on Phoenix and I, and I hear the faint sound of whimpering in my ear but I dare not look back to comfort him.

Then her eyes leave us and I let out the breath I had been holding, allowing air to flood my lungs as her words continued to flow. Three days of training, scoring, Interviews, all these things that all of us already knew we would have to take part in. Launching. The day that would bring the official start of the Games. I force myself to breathe normally, I was not afraid before and I should not be still. There are still many days before that day will come. I still have many days to live before I will have to fight the other children around me, trying to ensure my own life and at the same time their deaths. I remind myself of Fabian's kind words before the Parade began and my smile brightens automatically. Not everyone here is a monster, not everyone here is like the blood-lipped President.

"Once again tributes, we welcome you," I hear the words so clearly as the woman at the balcony stares down at us all as a whole. "And may the odds be _ever _in your favour."

District One's chariot begins to move again, the two older tributes shimmering in crystal-coated formal wear, the lights dancing off their bodies and reflecting into the eyes of the audience. District Two follows closely behind, each tribute staring straight ahead of them with their silver armour shining under harsh lights and casting shadows on their determined faces. District Three begins to move in after them and soon enough I feel my own chariot begin to roll towards the stables, earning a surprised squeal from Phoenix that I pretend not to hear. I keep the smile plastered on my face even after we pass through the doors to the stables and Fabian and Arria come into full view.

Our chariots stops a good distance from them and they run up to us, Fabian grabbing my hand and helping me down the steel ladder. With my feet now on firm ground I finally feel serene again and when Phoenix climbs down from the chariot he trips and goes sprawling onto the floor in front of me. I suppress a giggle for what feels like the hundredth time and hold out a hand to help him up. He takes it, giving me a crooked smile as he tries to climb to his feet. His weight is more than I had expected and instead of me helping him to stand up, we both end up on the ground laughing as our stylists properly help us up.

Fabian gives me a quick hug and brings his lips close to my ear so that only I can hear what he is saying. "I told you that you would make them love you, Greylyn."

I smile up at him and he winks at me playfully, nudging me on the shoulder as if to tell me he was proud of me. I look up to Phoenix and see Arria trying to wipe a spot of his face, Phoenix's arms flailing out to ensure that she not get any closer to touching his face again. Fabian rolls his eyes playfully at the comical pair and I let myself laugh along with him.

Fabian and I begin to walk towards the elevators, where tributes and stylist were already congregating to get up to their respective floors. We wait a few minutes for Phoenix and Arria to join us and by that time most of the tributes have already left and went to their floors. I look over to one of the side elevators and catch the eye of the District Four Career girl, she smiles devilishly at me and mouths 'Bloodbaths' in my direction.

I swallow hard and Fabian looks at me questioningly before following my gaze up to the older girl. He turns me quickly to face another set of elevators just as they open for us to get inside. I run my hands up and down my arms, suddenly cold in the warm temperature of the stables. Fabian watches me with a frown on his face and he pulls me to his side protectively.

"She won't hurt you, I won't let her hurt you," he repeats over and over until the words seem to echo in my mind without having to leave his lips. I want so badly to believe him, believe that he will make it so that the older girl won't be able to torture me like her devilish smile and piercing eyes suggest she plans to. But I know no truth lies behind his kind words.

He won't be there with me in the arena when the gong sounds and the weapons begin to seek flesh and blood. He's safe from having to worry about death at the hands of someone like her. I wish I could be safe, I wish that the Capitol would protect me like they do him.

But I know that's not going to happen, and when it comes down to it I know that there will be cheers when my blood is shed, and that nobody will cry for me when I'm gone.


	19. Written in the Stars

**A/N**- No gap in the updates so far, wow this must be some kind of record for us xD

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**Dakota Phillips, District Eight Female**

**Night of Chariot Rides**

**_ImmyRose_**

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"Those costumes were _terrible_, don't you think?"

Magic cringes away slightly at my overly perky attitude, clearly intimidated by my bold persona, but I pretend to pay him no attention as I continue to babble on about the chariot ride outfits while they were still fresh in my mind. He opens his mouth to say something, but as usual, I override his opinion with my deliberately irrelevant and bitchy chatter.

"I mean, District Eleven had really tacky costumes. Even those two little kids hated wearing them, and I doubt they know _anything_ about fashion sense. Like, who uses gold anymore? It's such an overused colour, and why were they even dressed like that anyway? Aren't District Eleven supposed to be farmers or something?"

This was referring to the overly grand costumes that the two young tributes had been wearing, which had looked over-the-top and bulky on them, in my opinion. Neither of the two tributes looked like they were having 'the time of their lives' on the chariots, although the scythes that they had been holding could arguably be linked back to their district industry.

"Oh, and did you see what District Five were wearing? Since when did a bunch of lights count as an outfit?" I continue in a scornful tone, feigning ignorance of the fact that actually, those lights would have drawn attention to the District Five tributes, which was obviously a bad thing for me sponsor-wise, but it also increased the possibility of the Careers focusing their attention on them. Funny how actually gaining sponsors during the pre-Games was more likely to backfire on you in the arena. If you actually did something during the Games, then the sponsors _knew_ that you someone to be taken seriously. Anybody could die in the bloodbath, after all. Just take a look at the District Four girl, Oceava, last year if you needed a reference.

Magic attempts to interject with his opinion again but I silence him, "And what the stylists for District Three thinking? That dress did not suit the girl whatsoever, and she wasn't even trying to make up for it. And her district partner was way too eager."

"I-I-I did th-think that t-the colour s-scheme was q-q-uite e-effective th-though." Magic manages to splutter out. When I turn to look at him directly, he grimaces slightly.

"Excuse me?" I inquire sharply, raising my eyebrows as if I was shocked that he had interrupted me. And I was; Magic was not what you would call charismatic. Sure, it made sense if you weren't willing to talk to others here; it was the Hunger Games after all, and making emotional attachments to those that might die soon was a pretty dumb idea, but Magic seemed to be socially-awkward naturally. It made sense that he found me to be quite intimidating personality-wise.

He doesn't look at me as he mutters, "W-w-well, I th-thought that the co-colours reflected their d-district industry well." He was probably pointing out how the glowing, red and yellow lines in their outfits looked somewhat like a circuit board, but I pretend to horribly misinterpret this.

"Are you kidding me? How does that colour scheme possibly match up with the electricity district? Everybody knows that electricity is blue; that's the colour that it usually is on the cartoons back home." Of course, this gave off the impression that I presumed cartoons actually paid any attention to realism and logic, which was doubtful.

"D-do you think o-our outfits we-were any good, Da-Dakota?" He stutters incompetently, which makes me feel compelled to turn towards him with a scowl on my face.

"It's _Dakota_, you idiot. How hard is that to pronounce?" I ask contemptuously, rolling my eyes. It was 'in-character' with the fashion-conscious girl that I was so used to being to get offended over the slightest error that people made about me, although I personally couldn't care less about him stumbling miserably over my name, "And our outfits were alright, I suppose. At least the stylists matched the dress colour with the wings. I mean, bright pink wings are nice, but a pink dress _really_ doesn't suit me. Unless it's like, a pale pink that isn't ridiculously garish. Who would want to wear a hot pink dress anyway? That would look awful!"

Any normal person would have snapped from my non-stop talking by now, or at least would have informed me that I was acting insanely air-headed for the situation that I was in. But not Magic. He just happily went along with whatever I said and hardly ever tried to insert his opinion in the one-sided conversation or object to anything that I said. It was definitely not typical human behaviour, where most people desired to be the centre of attention, but it was completely beyond me as to why Magic acted the way that he did, and I doubted that I could casually ask him without him getting suspicious of my motives, or at least defensive about his past.

Unless he was pretending to be weak. It wouldn't be the first time that a tribute had pretended to be something that they weren't. Oh, and considering the fact that pretending to be an airhead happened to be a large part of my strategy, it would be pretty hypocritical of me to think that nobody else would attempt to hide their talents from the others. With this in mind, it was totally logical to presume that Magic was pretending to be a socially-awkward individual in order for people to find him less threatening. Some might consider this assumption to be a sign of paranoia on my part, since Magic hadn't actually done anything suspicious as of now, but it was better to be cautious when it came to that small matter of life and death than to underestimate everyone.

Actually, it was that same paranoia that had led to me putting on this act anyway, and that had paid off, hadn't it? I had figured that if my chances of being in the Games were absolute thanks to my sister being Reaped and winning, then pretending to be weak from the very start had seemed to be a valid strategy. You could hardly doubt my acting skills if I had acted in such a way _before_ being Reaped, could you now? And like I had predicted, the Capitol had targeted a victor's sibling to go into the Games – probably for the extra drama that would be attached to such an event occurring – and even though I had no wish to participate in the Games, the fact that people would immediately stereotype me as weak would only work in my favour. And after the event that I had predicted had happened, you couldn't blame me for listening to my suspicions more. People were hardly going to behave in a trustworthy way when you shoved them into the Games.

Arriving at the elevator, I stop talking as I board the elevator with my district partner. Much to my relief, nobody else is on-board, which means that the pressure to act frivolous is relieved. The thought puts a smile on my face, and I make no attempts to hide it. If Magic was even paying attention to me, then my seemingly positive mood could be attributed to the grandeur of the chariot rides. Who wouldn't want to be showered in adoration from what felt like your fans? Who wouldn't want to feel like they were special, that they actually _meant_ something to others? Out there, it had been easy to forget about the Games and pretend that everybody had been crowded in there just to see me in all the finery that I had been dressed in. When they had been cheering my name, I almost felt like I had a decent chance at winning this, so caught up in the wave of emotions that I had felt from the crowds that I had forgotten how little a chance I realistically had.

It had taken the crowds cheering on for the higher district tributes for me to come back around to reality, but the ecstatic feeling that I had initially felt at being cheered on remained, no matter how impractical it may be. It wasn't as if odds of 1: 24 were favourable, anything but, and the fact that the typical Career alliance seemed to be in effect this year hadn't done much to make me feel any more optimistic about my odds.

The ding of the elevator reminds me that we have indeed reached the eighth floor of the building that the tributes were residing in for the duration of the pre-Games events. Speaking of the other tributes, was one allowed to visit them after training? It didn't technically break any of the official rules that the Capitol had made, did it? And it was pretty fun to ride on those elevators anyway. The see-through crystal added to the motion of the elevator combined together to make you feel like you were flying though the air.

_Cut it out, _I think, mentally chastising myself for thinking about something so irrelevant. _You're not a little girl anymore._

Nobody catches on to my childish thoughts, but my brief moment of being enraptured by that one insignificant thing that the Capitol could offer means that I literally run into Tabitha, which obviously snaps me out of my thoughts. Unfortunately, I end up treading on her foot in the process and naturally, Tabitha doesn't take me stepping on her foot with my high-heel well.

"Watch where you're going!" She snaps in a tone of voice not dissimilar to the one I had used when talking to Magic just mere minutes ago. We were oddly alike in that respect, although Tabitha remained oblivious to this.

"Watch where I'm going? It's you that should have moved out of the way for me." I reply arrogantly, placing my hand on my hips, "I am the prettier sister."

"And what does that have to do with anything?" True to form, Tabitha feels the need to remark on the 'uselessness' of being pretty in the arena, "Do you really think that the Capitol provide beauty products in the arena? Are you expecting them to supply bottles of hair conditioner in the backpacks at the Cornucopia? Because you're going to be very disappointed."

I make an indignant huffing sound whilst twirling a curl around my finger, "They might do. If they didn't, then we'd become all horrible and grimy, and then the Capitol won't have anybody pretty to root for," I point out, "And the Games are a beauty contest, right?" I pout slightly, looking like I was actually trying to make Tabitha see sense in this 'logic' that I seemed to be advocating.

Tabitha sighs, clearly dismissing me as a delusional idiot who couldn't see beyond appearances; a conclusion that she has reached many times before when arguing with me, "Absolutely," she replies, deadpan, "Because looking attractive helps so much when you're bleeding to death in the arena, obviously. I wonder why I _never_ used that strategy when I was in the same situation as you are now."

"Because you don't take pride in looking presentable," Ignoring her sarcasm completely, I sniff slightly, my superior height meaning that I can literally look down on Tabitha without looking stupid, "But it's not like you'd know anything like that, because I'm better-er than you."

Completely disregarding the fact that 'better-er' wasn't even a word, and that the word 'better' on its own would have sufficed, I strut (because simply walking was too modest for someone as spoiled as me) away from Tabitha, acting in a haughty manner as if I was superior to her. Never mind the obvious fact in that Tabitha had actually won the Games, while the odds were stacked against me surviving at the moment.

No, such a thought would have never occurred to a girl like me. Which reminded me of the fact that gaining my mentor's support would probably be a good idea. I knew full well that Tabitha tended to concentrate her mentoring on the stronger of her two tributes, and even though I was her sister, there was a chance that she might see an opportunity for District Eight's second victor in Magic. He was a pretty fast runner and was reasonably intelligent, although his obvious lack of social skills and the fact he had been shot in the ankle at the Reaping probably wouldn't help him much.

But was a spoiled, shallow girl who seemed to know nothing about survival or fighting skills any better? Even if me and Tabitha had been close to each other at one point, the Games seemed to have destroyed her ability to care for others, and the façade that I had put up after her victory had only made us more distant from each other. It was entirely plausible that she might consider Magic more worthy of her attention than me, and I needed to make her think helping me would be far more likely to get her a victor. And maybe, there was a little part of me that wanted to talk to my older sister normally one last time before I died.

Could that be considered a weakness? To risk shattering my carefully-constructed masquerade just so I could have a normal conversation with my sister?

Well, it wasn't as if I could have a valid discussion here; Magic would be in a position to overhear what I had planned so far, and there was a chance that the Capitol had bugged the tribute rooms in case we happened to be planning another rebellion or whatever. And even though I considered the possibility of the districts rebelling again in time to save my life to be non-existent, I couldn't blame the Capitol to be overly cautious about dissent among the districts; it wasn't as if the Capitol outnumbered the people in the districts or anything.

Not that I could really bring myself to care; if the districts didn't have some plot ready to save the children going into the arena from almost-certain death – mainly, if they didn't have a plan to save _me_ – then I couldn't care less. It was kind of difficult to give a damn about very much when you going to die regardless of wherever you supported or opposed the Capitol. They only cared about flaunting their power over us and showing how little they cared about killing innocent children in order to prove their point. In contrast, a brief conversation between family members would be completely innocuous.

With my plan still forming in the recesses of my mind, I enter the en suite bathroom that was situated in my room and grab the flannel that was hanging on the rack near the sink. As I soak it in the hot water pouring out of the tap, I realise just how readily available hot water was here, and just how much control you had over regulating the temperature. To my side was a small control panel that could control the water temperature and the rate that the water poured out. Curiously, I tap a few of them as the water started soaking the flannel, watching as the water rapidly gushed out and splashed my hand with water that had been several degrees cooler only seconds ago.

It was so efficient, eerily so. Even if I had spent several years of my life living in better conditions than the majority of my district, I still had to wait several minutes before the water was warm enough for my liking. And yes, that was selfish of me to not be grateful for the fact that I had been fortunate enough to have preheated water in the first place, but this one room in the Capitol was far more luxurious than the living quarters in my house, which just went to show that not even someone that the Capitol had considered 'important' was worthy of the very best things that the Capitol could provide. In fact, the reason that this all existed in the first place was because of what the districts had to provide the Capitol with. All of this was at the expense of the districts, and this room's only purpose was to house people as young as twelve in comfort - lulling them into a sense of security - before killing them. The thought wasn't a nice one, and I try and dispel it from my mind since I planned on using the flannel sometime soon, and thinking about the fact that the cloth it was made from had been produced in District Eight, and the technology behind warming the water in the first place most likely came from Districts Three or Five wasn't something that I really wanted to think about. It made me feel even more out of my depth than I had originally, knowing that both the Capitol and the districts were indirectly sending me to my death soon enough.

I focus my eyes on the reflection in the mirror as I roughly wiped my face with the flannel, eliminating any traces of the makeup that had acted as a second skin on my face for the past few years, slowly revealing my natural appearance without any unnatural substances emphasising my eyes or concealing the minor flaws that might detract from the image of beauty that I had cultivated. Bit by bit, I watch the old Dakota reappear and I take note of how different she looks from the girl that people usually saw. Her brown eyes seemed to sink slightly into her face instead of standing out thanks to the emphasis that mascara and eyeliner could add to them, there were slight freckles splattered on her nose that were so faint that a brief covering of powder would be more than enough to erase them and make her skin a flawless mask. The girl I see in the mirror could almost be the same as she was when she had been thirteen years old, aside from the occasional spot that once again, foundation was perfectly capable of covering. I guess the sharper, more defined cheekbones made her look older as well, ruining my once child-like looks. Aside from the light red marks where I had rubbed at my skin too hard with the flannel, I looked just like another tribute, another girl that was putting aside their need to feel comfortable in order to survive.

It feels almost strange to not be wearing any makeup as I walk back into the main room again, and I toy around with my hair in order to make this fact less obvious as I walk into the main room. Magic wasn't there - probably admiring the room that he'd be staying in for the next few days - but Tabitha was still sitting on the couch watching the recaps of the chariot rides with a bored expression on her face. Perfect. This was just what I needed; if her attention wasn't fixated on anything else, then she'd be more willing to hear me out instead of immediately dismissing me.

"Ugh, it's so stuffy in here," I complain in a tone of voice that was only slightly too melodramatic to be considered appropriate, fanning myself with my left hand in order to obscure my face even more while turning around in Tabitha's general direction, "My skin is drying up as I speak."

Tabitha - as was to be expected - didn't show any sympathy for my crisis, not even sparing a glance in my direction, "Go outside then."

"You can do that?" Sensing an opportunity, I look up towards Tabitha directly in genuine interest, "Is there like, a rooftop that you could sunbathe on?" I ask in a perky voice that could put an escort to shame.

To her credit, Tabitha does not bother to point out the fact that one could not technically sunbathe when it was almost pitch black outside, unless the amount of artificial light that the Capitol produced was good enough to give your skin a decent tan. Somehow, I didn't think that was possible though.

"Yes, you can use the elevator to get there." She answers tersely. The clipped answers that she was giving me and the forced expression of patience that made itself evident in the unnaturally tight way that she pursed her lips together told me that she was eager to be rid of me.

"Oh my gosh, that's totally amazing!" I continue to answer brightly with a grin on my face, acting like I had never bickered with her in the first place, "Thank you so much!" Dashing over to the elevators, I put my finger to my mouth in apparent confusion at the multi-coloured buttons, "Wait, which button do I press?"

After she mutters something that doesn't sound complimentary about my common sense, I can hear the shuffle of feet against the carpet and I can tell that Tabitha has actually bothered to get up and 'help' me out.

"It's this one, obviously," she points to one of the two buttons that doesn't have a district number on it. The fact that this button had a 'R' - presumably for 'rooftop' - made the choice more obvious. However, in order for anyone to get to that conclusion, they would have to possess a certain something called_ logic_ and _common sense,_ and good old Dakota wasn't supposed to know what those two things meant.

Tabitha turns around to leave, but I hastily press the button and position myself awkwardly in front of her, making sure to take up as much space as possible in order to block the way out. By the time that it occurs to my oh-so-charming sister to push me out of the way (because asking politely wasn't how Tabitha did things), the doors have closed and both of us are heading towards the rooftop. Inwardly, I feel a twang of nervousness inside of me. If any of the others overheard or if Tabitha refused to take me seriously, then I would be in trouble.

As the doors open, I grip Tabitha's arm and forcefully drag her out of the elevators so that she couldn't leave. Sure, I was hardly the epitome of physical strength, but Tabitha wasn't much better than me and I doubted that she considered me to be a threat anyway. However, I make sure to cover up my 'explanation' in a cheery, overly excited voice so that anybody else around wouldn't become suspicious, "Sorry to be awkward, Tabitha, but I hate being on my own when doing something. Even if you're like, the most miserable and ungrateful _sister_ ever!"

I glance around the rooftop, making sure that no other tributes were hiding behind the plant pots that were dotted around the edges. When I don't spot anyone, I continue to haul Tabitha over to the small garden that had dozens of wind chimes being knocked against each other in the mild breeze. The sound that they made would make it exceedingly difficult for anybody to overhear the two of us, and if anybody found this suspicious as opposed to sisters merely reminiscing, then they would already pose a problem.

Looking down below at the Capitol, I find that the city really is quite beautiful at night, in a surreal kind of way. From up here, you felt invincible as you surveyed the way that the moving yellow-white lights followed the straight, constructed lines of the roads and how the streetlights and the torches that the parades of citizens were bearing seemed to flicker, like a star brightening and dimming ever so slightly if you cared to look closely. The cheers of the crowds was nothing but background noise, like the whirring of a fan. Considering it was a bustling city, it was actually quite peaceful up here, and if circumstances hadn't demanded otherwise, I would have been perfectly content to stand here and let the wind run its fingers though my hair.

Tabitha's harsh, flat voice derails my train of thought on the Capitol, "Any particular reason that you decided to drag me out here?"

"Well, yeah," I start off before realising that I hadn't put much thought into how I was going to say what I wanted to say. Sure, I was planning on telling Tabitha that I wasn't the ditz that I pretended to be, but saying that word-for-word wouldn't sound very convincing, and I had never had much practice in sounding - or being, for that matter - genuine. That was probably why the words that stumbled out of my mouth next came out in such an undignified manner, "Do you remember how after you won I became a really snobby, stuck-up girl who became majorly obsessed with the Capitol and only cared about fashion and shoes and if I could sleep with every fit guy around and acted like a right bitch to everyone and - "

"Yes, I remember," Tabitha raises an eyebrow at me, "And what's with your sudden use of the past tense? As far as I can tell, you still _are_ all of those things that you mentioned."

In a brief moment of pure childishness - and just because I wanted to give my words some impact - I hesitate deliberately for a moment, purely to give my next words some dramatic effect.

"I was pretending."

This manages to stun Tabitha for a moment before she examines me critically, clearly noticing my lack of cosmetics on my face and how modestly I seem to be dressed. They may be minor things that would mean nothing to anybody else, but to someone who had spent years living with me, those little details spoke volumes, "You were doing a damn good job of pretending if you were acting, then."

I punctuate her words with a little bow, "Why thank you. I think that's the nicest thing that you've ever said to me," My sarcasm is tangible. Then another thought occurs to me, "You don't seem very surprised at this."

"I've seen stranger things happen," It's this vague, dismissive answer that leads me to believe that Tabitha was hiding her shock from me. She wasn't one that liked people knowing things about her or for showing her surprise at anything, and I could guess that finding out that your sister had been pretending to be stupid would come as a pretty big shock to most.

For some reason, this irritated me. Maybe it was the fact that I had been clinging onto the hope that dropping the act - well, dropping the act in front of my sister, anyway - temporarily would have magically reversed things back to how they used to be, where Tabitha wasn't a short-tempered, hollow shell of herself and where I hadn't grown up from the young girl that I had been back then. I don't let onto this though; was there any point in dwelling on my past anymore?

"Uh huh," I reply, giving her a sceptical look, "You keep on telling yourself that then. Anything to avoid admitting the fact that you were outsmarted by your younger sister." I stick my tongue out at her as I utter the last few words in a smug, superior voice.

"How mature," she still manages to keep her facial features expressionless as she says the words in a monotone, although this doesn't come as much of a surprise to me. Good acting skills seemed to run in this family, "So, how do you plan on utilising your act in the Games? I'm presuming that you plan on continuing to feigning ignorance of your actual situation."

I nod in response, but before Tabitha can carry on with my game plan, I interrupt, "Can we think about this tomorrow? I mean, that is what those training days are for, right?"

"You can, but - "

"And I really want a break from thinking about the Games," I try and appeal to my sister's sympathetic side, slumping my shoulders slightly in order to give off the impression of being completely without hope. I knew full well that Tabitha realised that tonight would be one of the first - and last - nights that I got to be myself in front of anybody. She knew what was waiting for me in terms of the nightmares and the horrors when I entered the arena, and although she didn't know precisely what it would be like in my arena, you didn't need to be a genius to figure out that it couldn't be anything good. And even if I won, which seemed to become less and less likely as the seconds ticked down, all the attention that had been solely fixed on Tabitha would turn to me. Surely she'd allow me this one break.

_Oh, aren't you a nice sister? _A snide voice whispers in my head. _Manipulating her in order to get your own way, even now? You couldn't be honest if you tried._

I try not to feel guilty about playing around with my sister's emotions in order for me to delay working on my plan as she gives her assent, try to lose myself in the glamour of the Capitol that I could see from below as Tabitha walks away from me. All that my surroundings do however is shift me back into my morose, somber mood and remind me of why I am here, reminding me of past events in Panem's history that had condemned me to this in the first place. It was both the districts and the Capitol that had collaborated together - no matter how much they may be aware of that fact - to kill me and all the others here though rebellion and vengeance. By instating the Hunger Games, the Capitol had played their part and by instigating the Dark Days in the first place, the districts were also - indirectly - to blame.

That didn't matter to me anymore; it wasn't as if the odds of me returning back to those districts were very high. A 1:24 chance of me being alive in a few weeks did not put the odds in my favour, after all.


	20. Blueberries

**A/N- **First chapter for Training! Slowly making our way through the Capitol. Enjoy this chapter!

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**Fritz as Pritz A/N- **I was originally planning on putting the goodbyes at the end of my reaping chapter, but then stuff happened and I needed to find a way to cut off my chapter so that I didn't have to mention the female tribute. However, his goodbyes are important, so _whenever the text is italicized it is from the goodbyes_. Sorry if the way I wrote this is a little confusing.

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**Wyatt Kipper, District Three Male**

**Training Day One**

_**Fritz as Pritz**_

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I don't like the smell of my Capitol room. I think it smells too… nice. Like the plants we grow in class or the smell of a day just beginning, when it's still cold outside and everything is still wet. But I don't see any plants around and nothing is wet in the morning. It isn't a real smell and I don't like it. I want it to smell like the Capitol is supposed to smell. I don't know what that is yet, but I think I will figure it out sometime soon.

On most days, I don't like staying in bed. On most days, I am up and out helping Laurel or at the bar or trying to study. But I'm at the Capitol so I can't do any of that stuff. I wish they could and I want to ask Matilda if they will let me go there really quick and then come back, but I don't want her to think I'm dumb.

"_I'm sorry son," Papa said. "I'm sorry you're too dumb to win."_

I close my eyes and clench the pigeon feather in my fist. I'm glad Mama told Papa to give it back to me. _"Let's be honest, Mama," Cassy whispered to her. "No amount of luck that the feather can 'give' will help him win."_

They should make the room smell different, like plastic. That's a better smell. At least that smell doesn't remind me of home. I don't want to remember home right now and I think it's mean that the Capitol wants us to remember. Maybe remembering home just reminds us that we are never getting home and that no one at home even thinks that we'll be home again. Maybe that hurts people and maybe those people don't want to be hurt. _"I don't know what I'll do without you," Laurel whispered in my ear. "I don't know if I can handle the being hurt if you aren't there to help me."_ Maybe remembering home only reminds us that other people are hurting more than you are and you can't do anything about it.

This is why I don't like staying in bed because I think too much. Mr. Carrow used to say that only the smartest people would think from the moment they woke up. _"I hope you know that you have always been a son to me," he said. "I hope you know that I will miss you as much as I would miss my own son if he died."_ I wish he would have promised to keep Laurel safe. I hoped that he would love me enough to do that for me. But I know why he didn't. He knows that I stole for her and Mr. Carrow doesn't like stealing. I don't blame him for not wanting to help; I just wish that he would. Who knows, maybe he will help her in different ways. Maybe he can give her food when she looks hungry. I think that would be enough.

I hope Laurel's still alive. _"I shouldn't have come," she said. "Helen will be pissed because I'm not home, but I couldn't risk not seeing you one last time."_ I wonder if she listened to me when I told her to leave. I don't think so and I don't think that Helen was very nice to her when she got home. I hope Griff did something to help, but I don't think he did. I don't even want to think about what he said after the reaping. It makes me a little sick just thinking about it. In my head, I call it the-really-bad-thing-he-said. It's worked so far to keep what the words away.

The sound on my door tells me that breakfast should be ready soon. One thing I like about the Capitol is the food. Bates would be really happy here with all of the different foods to try and taste. Yesterday, I asked the people serving us if there was tamarind in the soup because it had a nice sour taste but then they ran off. Miss Matilda then told me not to talk to them because they couldn't talk to us. I felt bad and I wanted to apologize, but she kept telling me to leave it alone.

I don't think Miss Matilda likes me very much. Mr. Carrow used to say that people don't like you only because they don't know you, but Miss Matilda knows me and I think that's why she doesn't like me. She knows I won't win, just like everyone else, and I think that she thinks that if she doesn't like me, she won't care as much when I die.

"Wyatt!" M'shell sings on the other side of the door. "Time to wake up!"

"I'm coming," I yell as I put on the clothes that have been placed aside for me. Papa used to say that only bums go to the dinner table in their pajamas and that he wouldn't have a bum in his family. I guess it doesn't matter what Papa says anymore, but I still want to make him happy. He is my Papa after all.

When I open the door, the purple lady is there with a really big smile. I don't know why she makes her skin a different color. Tommy told me once that it was because they thought they looked prettier that way. I don't think it's pretty, but then again Griff liked eating lemons and I didn't like doing that either. "You look really nice today, Miss M'shell," I tell her to try to make her feel nice.

"Why thank you! You have better manners than the last boy that was here," she says smiling really wide at me. I don't want to think about last year's Games. Papa doesn't let us normally watch the Games at home, but this year, I was able to watch most of it at the bar and I saw when James died. After that, I didn't want to watch anymore.

I don't say anything in response to M'shell and it doesn't matter anyway because we are at the table and Spark, Miss Matilda, and Miss Neon are already seated. I take my spot next to Miss Neon and Spark and smile at both of them.

I recognized Spark when she was reaped. She is in the "stupid" classes too, but in the smarter stupid classes. She doesn't talk much, so when I try talking with her, I have to say stuff so that she doesn't have to really say something back. I think she's more comfortable in her own thoughts though, so I decide not to talk to her too much.

Then there is Miss Neon. (Mama used to tell me that with elders or people of respect I am to refer to them as mister, miss, or missus. I'm older than Miss Neon, but I respect her enough to call her miss.) She doesn't talk much at all. In fact, I don't even see her unless we're eating. Otherwise she stays in her room or stands behind Miss Matilda. When she does say something she mutters names like Harrison, Fir, or Rae. I think they're tributes from last year, but I asked once and she gave me a funny looks and I think I hurt her so I didn't ask again. She asks Miss Matilda weird questions too like, "Why didn't you let me die?" I feel bad for Miss Neon and in a way, she reminds me of Laurel. I just want to make her happy.

"With training make sure you learn whatever you can and watch the other tributes," Miss Matilda tells us as breakfast comes. She looks mainly at Spark, and I don't like it. I don't like that no one is giving me a chance and it makes me feel funny inside my chest. I think I'm getting mad.

I don't like getting mad because the last time I got mad I hurt someone and I don't like hurting people. I decide to not get mad and eat my pancake instead. I don't think it works really well though.

"Have you two thought about allies?" I try to ignore Miss Matilda, even though Mama said that ignoring people is rude. I look at Miss Neon who is rubbing her arm and shaking like the stray dog that used to hide behind the garbage can at the bar. The dog died.

"I'd only choose an ally if they could help me," Sparks says to Miss Matilda. "And everyone here is here to either get killed or be a killer. I don't want an untrustworthy killer by my side." She looks down at her food after that and finishes eating.

It's strange because when Spark said "killer" Miss Neon stopped shaking and then started again only a lot harder. I don't think she likes talking about this stuff and shouldn't have to be scared when she's eating. Food is supposed to make people feel good and warm and happy. That's why I like it.

"What about you Wyatt? Are you thinking about allies?" I look at Miss Matilda for a moment and then at my plate. I have been thinking about it, of course, but I don't want to talk about it right now. Maybe later, when Miss Neon goes to her room that way she doesn't have to be uncomfortable.

"You think we can talk about something else?" I say. Everyone looks at me like I said something stupid, even though I don't think what I said was stupid at all.

"I'm trying to get you ready for training," Miss Matilda says making her eyes small.

"I know miss, but I don't think we should talk about it right now."

Miss Matilda raises an eyebrow at me. "Then when should be talk about it?"

I look at Miss Neon, who is the only who isn't looking at me. She stopped shivering, but now she is starting to mutter things again. I look back at Miss Matilda who doesn't look as mad as she was before. Actually, she has that look that Papa gets when Mama explains something to him and he finally gets it. "Can't we just talk about it later?" I ask. Miss Matilda glances between the Spark and me before nodding a little.

I smile and look to Miss Neon. "You should probably eat miss," I tell her. "The pancakes are the best when they're nice and hot with butter and syrup all over them." Miss Neon looks at her fork but doesn't pick it up. "Personally, I like strawberry syrup because it's sweeter than maple but maple is good too." Still, Miss Neon doesn't do anything. "I can make it for you if you'd like. It tastes good with fruit and chocolate too. Do you want me to do that for you?"

Finally, I hear something from her. "Azura would like blueberries because they're pretty like his eyes." I don't know what that means and I don't ask her about it.

"Then I'll put blueberries on it for you." I take her plate and put blueberries, as well as a little bit of condensed milk on it. After that, I put maple syrup on top but before I give her back the plate, I slice a few apples and sprinkle cinnamon on them. They're better when the apples are caramelized, but I don't have a pan. I give her her food with a smile. "If you eat, you might be a little happier. You might not and that's okay, but I think you should at least try. There's nothing wrong with trying, right? That's what my Mama used to say."

Miss Neon picks up her fork and eats a little. And then she eats a little more. I don't know if it makes her happy or sad, but at least she's eating. I finish eating my own pancake and notice the look that Miss Matilda is giving me. It's like the looks that my family gave me and Mr. Carrow and Tommy and Laurel and Griff. It's pity.

* * *

Spark and I get in the elevator and there is another tribute there. If the number on her sleeve means anything then she is from District Ten. She's tall, almost as tall as me, and that says something because most of the time I'm taller than everyone I know, especially the kids in my class. She has pretty hair, sort of like Laurel's except her hair is light and this girl's is dark. I remember her from when we got out of the Chariots and we were riding the elevator up. Her name is Adelia I think. She didn't talk much, but I don't think a lot of the girls here like talking or maybe it's only the ones I've met.

"Hey there," I say when we get in. "You remember me? I'm Wyatt from District Three." She doesn't say anything and I can tell she's uncomfortable. Then I spy the ladybug around her neck. "I like your necklace." She touched the little ladybug. "I like ladybugs because if you save them then you'll get good luck. My sister, Cassy, says that ladybugs don't have any special properties that would make them lucky, but I think she just says that because she doesn't like bugs."

Nobody says anything and when I open my mouth to say more, the door opens and we're at the training center. "Alright then, I'll see you around."

Spark walks to the circle of tributes and stands where we are supposed to, right in between Districts Two and Four. I'm taller or as tall as all of them and I feel funny because I don't like being taller than people because then they have to look up at you when you talk and people aren't very comfortable when they have to keep looking up. Papa says being tall is a good thing though, so I try to think it is good too.

After the other tributes come in, the teacher tells us about how we are supposed to train and that we should learn all that we can while we can. I'm not very good a learning quickly. The guys at the bar used to help me, but they aren't here now. I wish I had talked with Miss Matilda about this stuff. Now that I'm here I don't know what to do.

I should probably find an ally, but I don't know who to pick or if anyone would want to ally with me. Papa told me that there wasn't much that I was good at, but Laurel kept saying that I was stronger than most other kids. I don't know how that will help me but maybe it can. Miss Matilda would know how it would help me. I should have asked her before we left, but Miss Neon was still at the table and she looked a little better than she did before.

Everyone starts to walk to the different stations and I'm not too surprised that Spark leaves me to go to the survival stations. I don't really know what to do, so I go to the station with plants. I know plants the best because Laurel would plant her own stuff and would get food from some of the plants growing around the district. She told me about it sometimes, but I don't remember much.

There is a boy there and he has white hair and dark eyes which is a little strange, but at least he doesn't have colored skin. He has a nine on his shoulder so that means he's from District 9. "Hi," I say. "My name is Wyatt. What's yours?"

He doesn't answer right away and I think that a lot of the people here don't really like talking. "Jerin," he tells me.

"That's a nice name." I want to start saying something, but he looks uncomfortable so I don't say anything else. Maybe it's better if I don't talk to anyone because nobody here looks like they want to talk. "Okay, well, I guess I'll see you," I tell him before leaving. I'll go back to the plants later. I should learn something that I don't know very well. Papa said that is how to succeed.

I try the camouflage area, but I don't like painting so I decide to try throwing the weights they have. There is a line, though, so I wait and watch the other people with the weapons.

The six tributes that have trained before (Tommy likes to call them the Elites) looked like they went to each other the minute training started. The boy from Four looks like he is the leader and he keeps smiling and saying stuff to the girl with a Two on her arm. The same girl and the other girl from Four keeps looking at the girl from One who is really, really pretty. The Two girl keeps scrunching up her face at her and I don't think she likes her very much even though I don't know why. How can you not like someone you just met? Mama used to say that you can't hate anyone until you know them well enough so that hate is justified. I don't really know what that meant, but I think it just means that I shouldn't hate anyone.

The two tributes from One are training with each other, talking and smiling the way that friends do sometimes. The boy from Two is with them sometimes and other times he's by himself. He doesn't look like he fits in with them the same way that the others do. Maybe because he's smaller than them. The Leader is the one who really gives him strange looks, like he shouldn't be there. I feel bad for him and I wonder if he would talk with me if I were to try talking with him, but Matilda said before we left that the Elites were "off-limits" and that I should stay very far away.

When I get to throw the weights, I finish a lot faster than the other tributes. I think that they aren't used to them as much as I am. After all, the barrels of beer that I would have to carry around were a lot heavier than these and I would have to carry them from the train station to the bar sometimes. Tommy used to say that my body was compensating for having a slow brain. I didn't understand what he meant and when I asked him, he said that I would understand later. I still don't understand though.

I throw one a little too far and it hit the wall and made a really loud noise. Everyone looks at me and I feel bad for scaring them when they were trying to focus. "Sorry," I say. I go pick up the weight and bring it back. I stop after that and decide to try something else instead.

The lady who is supposed to teach us how to find water is all by herself so I go over there to keep her company. She doesn't look like she wants to be there so I ask her what she thinks of the Games and if she likes her job. She is surprised that I started to talk to her, but then she talks to me and we start having a conversation. Her name is Larisa and she seems to have a lot of adventures in the Capitol. I like talking with her because people don't like talking here and I miss being able to talk without feeling bad for doing it.

I end up spending most of my time with her and when another tribute came by, she would teach us what she is supposed to teach us before we started talking again. She is really nice and I found out that she likes making music with this thing called a harp and that she wanted to be a musician but then her family wanted her to get a real job. I told her that that was what Papa wanted from me too, but I ended up here instead. I think that made her a little sad, so I started to talk about food instead and she liked that better.

"What did you say?!" Larisa jumped when she heard the sharp cry and I turned to where she was looking at.

It was the girl from the elevator, Adelia. She looks angry at the boy from One for something that he said, but I don't know what. The boy doesn't look bothered by her and he says something to her with a smirk. I wish I could hear what he said because she gets really angry. I don't know if she will try to hit him but it looks like she might. The Peacekeepers look like they're getting angry too and I know that when Peacekeepers get angry, they hurt people. I don't want Adelia to get hurt.

I get up and run to them but at the same time, she punches the boy in the face. Before anyone could do something else, I get in between the two of them and throw my hands up to defend myself if necessary. I'm sure he is strong, but I am too and if I have to, I'll stop him from hurting her. I don't want anyone to get hurt anymore. I'm tired of people being hurt.

The Peacekeepers come and break up whatever might have happened between me and the One boy. Everyone eventually goes back to what they were doing and I turn to look at Adelia. She is looking at me with a weird look on her face. "Are you okay?" I ask her.

She nods a little and I wave her toward a little bench to sit down. I've heard that people like to relax after getting in a fight. "I'm sorry for whatever he said to hurt your feelings. I don't think that was very nice of him." I smile at her and try to make her feel better. I can't tell if it is making a difference or not.

"If you're still feeling bad about it, you can stick with me. Some people say that I'm pretty good at making people feel better." She doesn't say anything so I nod and start to go back to Larisa when I notice that Adelia is following me. Maybe she just doesn't like talking.

"So I'm not too good at any of the stuff here, but Larisa who is teaching how to find water is really nice and I think I know how to do that now at least. I don't get the other stuff though like camouflages…" I keep talking with her about that wondering if she will talk back with me eventually. When she doesn't, I continue on.

"Back home, my Mama and I would play a game called Find a Way Out and she would make a huge maze out of my house and I would have to find a way out without dying from the traps. I was never really good at it, but my sister, Cassy, says that I was really good at evading the traps. Maybe that means I'll be good with the Gamemakers traps in the Games. I don't really know what else I could do."

Adelia's face changes into something. The skin in between her eyebrows scrunches together and she looks like she's thinking about something she probably shouldn't. For a little second, I think that she looks a little like Laurel when she's looking for a way out of her problem. "_Why would I—"_ I stop myself from remembering the bad-thing-that-Griff-said.

"Thanks," she says to me really quietly.

"You're welcome." I smile. "I don't like it when people hurt other people and I could tell that he hurt you." She goes back to being quiet and I start talking about the food again and how I like it when they make us food from the other districts. I can't tell if she's listening but I continue anyway because she doesn't look uncomfortable or annoyed.

"I really do like your ladybug." I tell her when we move to go to the plant area. "Back home, my friends used to call me pigeon which is why I have a feather around my neck, see?" I show her the feather I hid in my shirt. I don't want anyone to take it away from me again. "Ladybugs are cooler though because they're tiny enough to not bother anyone and everyone likes ladybugs. If they don't then I think they should." I think she likes it when I talk about it but I can't tell.

"You kind of remind me of someone I know. She is really pretty and my best friend. When I was littler, I got mad and I accidentally hurt her, but after that I swore that I would never get mad again so I tried to take care of her so she wouldn't be hurt anymore. A lot of people hurt, but I really don't like it when she is hurt because she is really nice and she never does anything to deserve it." I start to get sad and there's a feeling inside of me that makes me feel funny. I don't like it. I try to make it go away by turning to Adelia.

"You know, I don't know much about the Games but I don't want to be sad here. I don't like being sad or angry and Tommy used to say that those feelings can have adverse effects to make people really sick. I don't know what that means but it sort of sound back, right? What I mean to say is do you want to be allies?" She looks at me for a while, then at the ground and back at me then slowly she nods and I smile really big.

Miss Matilda might not be happy, but I am, because even though I can't protect Laurel from here, I can protect Adelia and I don't want her to get hurt.

I don't want anyone to get hurt.

* * *

I leave training before the others because Adelia wanted to leave so I rode the elevator with her to her floor and went back to mine. (Mama used to say that gentlemen always escort their guests to their homes.) I don't remember much about what I actually trained for in training but I do remember where to find water because Larisa was really nice and explained it really slowly for me. I really liked talking to her and I hope her problems with her boyfriend don't stop her from having fun at her party tonight.

When I get out of the elevator, I see that Miss Neon is still at the table, rubbing her arms and muttering things. I hope she wasn't there all day. I go to her and sit in the chair next to her like before.

"Hey Miss Neon. Would you like me to get you something?" Miss Neon stops muttering but continues to rub at her arms. She won't look at me but I don't think she ever will.

"I don't like how it smells here," I tell her because I don't know what else to talk about. "I think it smells too nice. I like think it should smell different. I don't know what yet. At first I thought that plastic would be good but plastic doesn't smell like anything. I think it should smell cold but not too cold like ice but like when it's too windy outside and dirt gets in your nose. Or maybe it should smell clean like when there is absolutely nothing dirty and it almost hurts to smell it. I think that's what the Capitol should smell like."

I notice that Miss Neon started to shake again and I think I should start to talk about something else. "You know what I really like even more than food? Birds. Did you know that they used to call me pigeon back home? It's because I would climb on top of the roof and jump down to see if I could fly. I really wanted to fly when I was little. I thought that if I could fly, I would be able to get away from the bad stuff. I like kestrels the best because they are small but they are strong. Pigeons are nice too though."

The strangest thing happens then. Miss Neon looks right at me and grabs my arm. Her eyes are wide and she looks scared. I hope I didn't scare her. I didn't mean to scare her. "Don't win," she said quietly. "Don't win the Games. It's not worth it."

I don't want to look at her but Mama says that looking away when you're talking to someone is rude. _"I love you so much my handsome boy. You don't deserve this. You don't deserve to die."_ I start to get sad again and I don't want to. _"I'm sorry you had to die kid," Tommy said_. I begin to remember the really-bad-thing-Griff-said and I want it to stop. I don't want to think about that anymore. I want…

"_There's nothing we can do, Wyatt," said Griff. " There's nothing anyone can do for her. You know that. Besides why would I save her? I have to take care of my own siblings and I can't take the time to bother with Laurel. I'm sorry, Wyatt, but I can't save her anymore than you can."_

I want for people to be nice to each other and care for each other. I want people to care when someone else is hurting. I want to be a bird so I could help anyone who needs help. But it's like what Papa says: "You can't have things just because you want them."

"You don't have to worry about me winning, Miss Neon," I say with a little smile for her. "I could never win." She let go of me and started to mutter the names again. Except this time, she adds my name too.

"Wyatt Kipper," she whispers. "_Wyatt Kipper_."

Maybe when I die, I'll come back as a bird. Maybe that the real reason why they call me pigeon because they all knew that someday that's what I would be. Papa would say that it's not true, but it makes me feel better, so for right now, I don't care what Papa thinks.

Papa isn't the one that's dying. I am.


	21. Friend or Foe

**A/N- **Usually there are evening chapters after each training day but unfortunately the author for Sparrow has been going through some personal issues and has had to pull out so we're jumping straight to the next training day!

* * *

**Allure Medina, District One Female**

**Training Day Two**

_**Cashmere67**_

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_C'est trop d'un ennemi et pas assez de cent amis._

* * *

"Just think; exactly a year ago I was standing in this exact room with Silver," Glitter begins, but is interrupted by Spark.

"Probably listening to her talk about herself and how perfect she is," Spark adds air-quotations with his fingers when he says the word 'perfect'.

Glitter smirks, "You didn't even know her, Spark, now shut it."

"Anything you say, oh-so prestigious one," Spark runs his hand along her cheek, "You're a beautiful girl, you know that?"

"That's enough, Spark, now put the alcohol down," Venus intrudes, "Allure, can you do me a favor?"

Looking up, I can see Venus' eyes glaring at me, while she twirls her hair in a circular motion. I take one last bite of the food that was placed in front of me and then place the fork and knife that were in my hands down on the table. Before I can even finish wiping my mouth with the napkin, Venus begins to tap her shoe against the floor, indicating she's becoming impatient.

Venus is very demanding, and when she doesn't get her away, she'll begin to repine until she gets her way. Usually, Spark just tells her how it is; saying how she can't always get what she wants and if she keeps it up he'll make sure she won't be the escort of District One anymore. Such a threat keeps Venus silent since being an escort is the only thing she adores doing.

"Allure?"

"Yes, Venus?"

"Would you be a doll and get Quartz? I want you two to be the first tributes at training," she nods her head in the direction of Quartz's room.

I languidly stand up from the seat and slump my arms downward. Spark chuckles at my lethargic motions and from the corner of my eye I see Glitter push his shoulder, even though she's giggling herself.

The two of them are constantly bickering to each other; either about who is the superior victor or who my favorite person out of the two of them is.

"Someone's tired," Spark chaffs.

I turn towards them and fall back into the seat behind me. I put my hand on my forehead and fan myself with the other one. Venus slams her foot down, Spark just laughs, but I get some concern from Glitter. She walks a few steps, but then realizes I am only kidding.

"I don't think I can go on any longer! Tell the President they have lost the District One female! Avoxes, hurry!" I exclaim flippantly.

"Wonderful! Our mission is a success, Spark, now I can volunteer to go into the Games again!" Glitter prates.

"Allure, be mature and go get Quartz for us," Venus deadpans.

_Oh, Venus, you always knows how to ruin the fun._

I open my mouth to retort, but close it before anything leaves my mouth. I know I shouldn't get on her bad side, since she could possibly get me a few sponsors and as of now, she respects me. And respect towards me is something I value greatly.

But her respect isn't enough. Nowhere near enough.

"Quartz, we don't have all day!" I holler.

He obviously can't hear me since he is in the shower, but I might as well get some amusement out of the others. The noise of the water running gets much louder and I can hear him humming.

Attempting to block out the noise won't help you, Quartz.

I enter his bedroom, noticing his organization first. He has all of his clothes neatly packed into the wardrobe and dressers and his accessories laying on a piece of cloth on his bed.

I walk towards the bathroom door, passing a mirror. I stop and examine myself in the mirror for a few seconds. I must look my best, simply because I want to get a good reputation, even though this would only be from my looks.

It's a start.

I bang on the door a few times, but Quartz's humming only gets louder and louder. The steam is making its way into the room through the small opening under the door and through the vent on the top of the door. I open the door and I instantly become engulfed in the steam that's coming from the shower's hot water. The steam is making nothing visible in the room.

"Hot water for a _hot _boy; how fitting," I sneer, trying not to trip on anything.

I come across a technological pad on the wall that controls the water's temperature. He has the water temperature set on a specific number, but the number-pad looks so tempting.

Let's have some fun, shall we?

I tap my finger a few times on the pad where it says 'increase'. I can hear Quartz mumble, but then he continues on with his shower. I close my eyes and press my whole palm against the increase button and then remove my hand, noticing the indent that the pad left on my palm.

Quartz squeals and pushes himself against the back wall of the shower. Evidently, the noise indicates that he is slipping all over the place in the shower, unsure of what just happened. He rips down the curtain and his eyes widen once he notices me standing here.

"How unfortunate, the steam seems to be covering your body," I scoff.

"You!"

"Who," I look around the room and point a finger at myself, "Me?"

"Whatever your name is, get over here!"

Quartz frantically waves his arms in a peculiar manner and then slams his fist against the wall. He attempts to run towards me, but he slips on the towel on the floor and puts his hands out before hitting the floor.

"Medina, if that's you!" He shouts ferociously.

"Oh, calling me by my surname? I must be in some serious trouble."

I hunch over, laughing uncontrollably. The laughing only gets worse as I look at Quartz on the floor, attempting to find something to help himself stand up with. I run my hand along the wall trying to figure out where the door is, still not being able to see anything because of the steam. I eventually manage to find the door and leave the bathroom, but I remain at the door until some of the steam disperses.

I stick my head into the bathroom, "It's Allure, by the way."

Before he can say anything else, I leave his bedroom and enter the living room, where Venus, Glitter, and Spark all sit down watching the television.

"What was going on in there, Allure?" Venus inquires.

"I'm not sure, Venus, it might have been a rebel attack; call the Peacekeepers!"

Venus ignores my remark and narrows her eyes, "Is Quartz coming?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's coming, Venus."

She nods and smiles contently. She pats the cushion on the couch next to her, gesturing for me to sit next to her. They all stare at me as I take my time sauntering over to the couch. I take exaggerated steps and then place my hand and rub the couch's fabric. I brush the couch cushion with my hand and then sit down, crossing my legs and placing my hands on my lap.

"What are you guys watching?"

"A recap of last year's game's Bloodbath," Glitter responds.

On the screen, there are six figures, all in tribute-arena attire. Two of them have a '1' inscribed on their shoulder, two of them have a '2' inscribed on their shoulder, and one has a '7' inscribed on their shoulder. The remaining figure has an '8' inscribed on their shoulder.

No wonder they're all watching this; this is the scene where Silver got her first kill.

Spark shushes us and inches closer to the television. His excessive interest in the Hunger Games is odd, and borderline unhealthy. Since we have been in the Capitol, he was watched every Hunger Games up-to-date, commentating on each one, adding his own opinion here and there. Afterwards, he finds it necessary to inform us about the placing of each tribute and the victor.

He deems last year's games as one of the most interesting because of the arena and the tributes. He mocks Silver and Zeo, but he knows they were fierce competitors, even though neither of them returned to District One as a victor.

"That's how District One does it," Spark turns around and points at the sky, "Harrison, you deserved to die."

Quartz' bedroom doors opens slowly and he strolls on out, making sure to glare at me with infuriation in his eyes.

"Here I am," Quartz walks over and leans on the wall behind us.

"Took you long enough," I quip.

"Did it? You'd think looking this beautiful would take a while, but when I woke up, it was already three-quarters of the way complete."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Just like every other day," Quartz smiles pompously.

His visage manifests his narcissism and how panache he ostensibly deems himself. But, I won't put a damper on his day; he is rather attractive, so he deserves to possess a certain degree of vanity.

I've felt the same way before too, but I don't feel uncomfortable when thinking such a way. Considering yourself superior to someone solely because of your looks is ludicrous.

And that's coming from me – a model. A model that has been granted with such looks that she ultimately regrets.

But why is Quartz treated differently than I am if he is considered beautiful as well?

Venus waves Quartz to sit on the couch as well, but he refuses and slyly tip-toes over to me.

Quartz stands behind me and pinches my neck while passing me. I grab the remote, angling my arm so I can throw it at him, but Venus snatches it out of my hand before I can do anything.

There is a piercing screech on the television, and the five of us all whip our heads toward the television in unison. The District Eight male was just killed by Silver, causing Glitter to wince and slump down in her seat.

"We should start heading down to training if we want to get there early," Venus walks over towards the door and holds out the both of her hands.

Knowing what she wants, Quartz and I look at each other with resentment in our eyes. I smirk at him and he returns with a smirk, but the look in his eyes seems much more menacing than jocular.

Quartz places his hand in Venus left hand and I place my hand in her right hand. Venus grips both of our hands forcefully, making sure we don't try to escape her grasp any time soon.

Spark follows us, but Glitter remains in the seat, not even noticing that we just left. I know she's still mourning the death of Silver, but she needs to realize that everything happens for a reason. Even though they were family, it's time to let it go. She has to move on.

I never personally knew Silver, simply because she always seemed to ignore me or speak to me a condescending tone. She once told me that the only reason she let me breathe the same air as her was because I was friends with Glitter.

Silver was a lovely girl, really. No wonder she had done so well in the Games.

Spark is in front of us in the hallway and begins to walk at a much faster pace than the rest of us. As Venus, Quartz, and I walk at a much slower pace, Spark glances at us, but doesn't slow down.

"Why are you in such a hurry? Your training days are over," I banter.

Spark shrugs his shoulders, "I want to see if Chase is mentoring this year."

Spark has a relationship with nearly every victor – every Career victor, that is, such as Rouge, Chase, and Brook.

Spark rushes onto an elevator and quickly presses the down button. He doesn't hold the door for us and Venus isn't too thrilled with that. She sighs and pulls us towards the next elevator.

The ride down in the elevator is awkward, with me smirking at myself because of what happened earlier, while Quartz and Venus just stand there silently.

The elevator doors open up, and I promptly grab Quartz's hand and pull away from Venus' grip.

Spark embraces with Chase, the District Two mentor, with some sort of handshake. Spark notices that we have arrived and winks at me, but doesn't come near us. Him and Chase walk down a hallway opposite of the training center, leaving Venus, Quartz, and me alone. They trail after some pretty Capitol woman; no surprise there.

Spark is such an affectionate spouse, isn't he?

Quartz fixes his hair and adjusts his training suit, probably to make himself look more presentable. He opens the Training Center's door and stands to the side, wanting me to walk in first.

I hold out my hand, "Ladies first."

I hear a snort from behind me and know who it is just from the sound of it – Cassiterite, the District Two female. For some unknown reason, she hasn't been too amiable towards me from the start and she makes sure to let me know that she doesn't like me whenever she gets a chance.

"How entertaining, now excuse us; _actual _Careers coming through."

Cassiterite proceeds into the training center, and she mumbles something once she passes Quartz.

Her District Partner, Jem, stands for a minute, probably debating whether to speak to us or not. Jem, on the contrary, is amiable towards us, but sometimes goes along with Cassiterite. He looks me up and down for a second and I know raise my eyebrows at him. Jem turns into the training center and quickly stands next to Cassiterite.

Cassiterite seems to be more fond of Quartz, which he doesn't understand either. She will eventually have to get over her hostile mentality when it's time to enter the arena. You don't want any enemies in the arena, especially enemies that will have no problem murdering such a nuisance. Even if she doesn't consider me an adversary, I will not go down without a fight. Cassiterite has to realize eventually how she acts is absurd.

Or else I might have to take matters into my own hands.

And we all know how much damage a model can do.

Quartz and I look at each other and then continue to go into the Training Center.

The District Five tributes enter the training center at the same time as us, followed by the District Ten tributes.

We all just stand around, looking at the weapons and stations around the room. It seems that they have added more weapons, dummies, and stations from yesterday. Some of the stations yesterday weren't even touched once, so they're probably trying to promote a variety of stations.

Quintus and Lush, the District Four tributes, enter the training room. As soon as Lush notices us, she jogs over to us, and the first thing she does is hug Cassiterite. Quintus, on the other hand, takes his time. He eyes up every tribute in the room, smirking to himself after looking at a few. He winks and nods at a few.

Quintus is interesting; a mysterious interesting. He conveys himself as a threatening and intimidating individual. I wonder what he's like on the inside, though. Either he's more vigorous than we think he is or there is something going on internally. Perhaps he has a complex reason for volunteering too, or he has some family troubles, or maybe it's beyond that. But I'd never ask any of that; none of that is my business.

Quintus is the alleged leader of the Careers. He's just as lethal and arrogant as last year's leader, Silver, was. He doesn't really listen to everyone's opinions, but he considers them. I don't really speak to any of the Careers except Quartz anyway, so that doesn't really matter to me. I'm content with his authority over us all, simply because the rest of us don't really fit the Career leader standards.

Surprising, isn't it? A model that doesn't meet _all _standards?

Quintus and Cassiterite have had some relationship going on; by that I mean them always following each other around and constantly flirting with each other. But I can tell that relationship won't last long, simply because of his flirtatious side. He will randomly flirt with any girl, no matter the age or District. He has some commitment for Cassiterite since he usually only flirts intimately with her. He's even tried to flirt with me before, but Cassiterite didn't allow that.

But I'll let you know, Quintus, I'm an engaged woman.

And engaged woman don't have time for such young boys like yourself. No, no we do not.

Something's bound to happen between them, whether in the Capitol or in the Games. I'd like to see how that relationship fares in the arena, though. Even though they are in a relationship, I sense that Quintus won't allow anything that hinders his victory allowed in his life for too long. I believe both of them will soon realize their relationship isn't as significant as they think it is. Soon enough, they'll break up, making it even more challenging for Cassiterite to keep up her hostile façade towards Quartz and I.

They all have to remember that only one person makes it out alive. We're all here with one motive in common – to win.

I scan the tributes that are already here and notice that we are missing a few. For the most part, all tributes come to training. I can't really see a purpose behind not coming to training. Training is actually really helpful. Even though I have had prior training, the Capitol training is much better, in my opinion. I prefer it over private training with Glitter.

"So, who else is excited for training today?"

The Careers – Quartz, Jem, Cassiterite, Quintus, Lush, and I – stand in a circle formation, just staring at the wall or at other tributes. We don't usually have any conversations before training, simply because the tension between all of us hasn't really broken yet and all of us aren't comfortable around each other. We make eye contact, but that's the only form of interaction that has occurred. When training actually starts, we'll probably just go off by ourselves or with our District partner.

The remaining tributes usher into the training center, standing in a semi-circle around the balcony where the Head Trainer is standing. The younger tributes go into the front of everyone, eager to train and hopefully learn some skills that will help them survive.

The Head Trainer waves her hands, silencing everyone in the Training Center. The Gamemakers and the Head Gamemaker are sitting on another platform, eating lavishly and conversing loudly, even though they're really supposed to be watching us. They have other time to watch us during the Private Sessions too.

But they should really be doing their job. Maybe if I say something it will motivate them to do their job.

I raise my hand, hoping for the Gamemakers and the Head Trainer to look at me, but Quartz grabs my arm and pulls it down before anyone can see me. He shakes his head in disapproval and releases my arm.

Quartz is usually the person to keep me in control and tell me when something is not supposed to be said or done. That's another reason why I like having him as a 'friend'. I use the term 'friend' with anyone here loosely because you never know who you could actually trust. Quartz could be planning something, but I always hope he isn't. I like having him as a friend. Once, Glitter and Spark made it official that Quartz was the "Tamer" and I was one of his animals that have to be tamed. They were obviously joking, but in reality, it's true at times.

"Tributes, tributes, gather around."

The Careers stand in a parallel line, directly in front of me the Head Trainer. The rest of the tributes are randomly spread out behind us, basking in our glory. I stand behind the other Careers, but only by a few steps so I'm not too out of line. I like to be behind them, so if any of them start talking to another I can easily eavesdrop on their conversation.

Small chatter erupts from the tributes, but the Head Trainer starts to speak again, bringing all the noise to a halt, making it silent once again. Everyone is obviously eager to train today.

"In two weeks, twenty three of you will be dead; one of you will be alive."

I hear a soft laugh from the right of me, and then feel someone poke me on the shoulder. I look to my right, and see Cassiterite create an image of death by slicing her neck with her hand, and then she points at me. Her and Lush start giggling, but the Head Trainer shoots them a stare and they stop giggling immediately.

_I'd put that finger down before I bite it off. _

"Ignore them," Quartz whispers into my ear and moves back a little, blocking my view of Cassiterite.

"Who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days. Particularly to what I'm about to say. First; no fighting with the other tributes, you'll have plenty of time for that at the arena."

_Yes we will. Plenty of time._

"There are four compulsory exercises; the rest will be individual training. My advice is don't ignore the survival skills."

_Isn't being pretty a sufficient survival skill?_

"Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes, ten percent from infection, and twenty percent from dehydration."

_What percentage dies from being ugly?_

"Exposure can kill as easily as a knife."

As the Head Trainer finishes her last words, she waves her hand, gesturing for us to begin training. The Head Trainer walks over to the Head Gamemaker and they begin talking, and they also start pointing at a few tributes.

Who could possibly stand out to them already?

They might be on the lookout for tributes such as Neon – the victor of last year's Games. She was a small girl, but she had a lot more to her than that. She was very intelligent and was great at analyzing situations and applying herself to the best of her ability.

Around the room there are other trainers and Peacekeepers positioned at stations, with the weaponry stations being much more occupied than the survival courses. I am sure they wouldn't want any injuries or brawls occurring this early on in the Capitol.

I look for the throwing knives station, hoping no one is there, but a few tributes, including Jem, have already situated themselves there. I then look at the archery station, and of course, Cassiterite is already there. I decide against going there, only because I don't want this feud to elevate into something else. I'll leave her alone if she will leave me alone. It seems simple, but with her, that will be a challenge.

Easier said than done.

The mace station is mostly vacant, except for Lush and the District Six female. Going there will probably be my best option, mostly because Lush is there. If I can get her to actually speak to me – unlike Cassiterite – and trust me, we can be actual friends in the Career alliance. I have to at least try to make friends with some of my allies. If I am in a dire situation, they will have my back and will help me no matter what.

Once I have made way at the mace station, the District Six female leaves immediately. Lush notices me coming and holds out a mace for me to grab, but before I can grab it out of her hands, she drops it on the floor. I hear a high-pitched giggle from behind the wall of maces, and then Cassiterite reveals herself. The two of them stare at me, cackling away.

None of them have any self-control; do they not realize how foolish they are being?

Cassiterite and Lush walk away, laughing rather loudly, while glancing back at me every few steps. None of the other Careers notice any of this.

"I'll pick it up, don't you worry, Lush!"

As I grab the mace off of the ground, I hear two female voices behind me. Turning around, I notice a '5' on one of the girl's shoulders and a '7' on the other girl's shoulder. They are both rather small, definitely no older than fifteen. It's almost sad to know that they will both probably die in the arena.

I stand there, attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation, without making it too obvious. They talk in a friendly manner to each other, talking about random things and even poking some fun at some of the tributes. They mention the word 'allies' and I see both of the girls nod to each other.

Another alliance forming might be an issue, even if it's between two girls who don't seem to be too old or strong.

Tributes in an alliance are a threat to the Careers.

Even the tributes in our own alliance can be a threat to us.

The trainer places a dummy in front of me, and then steps back. I raise the mace in the air and then bring it down on the dummy's head. My arm is in some pain after that, thus maces won't be my preferred weapon in the arena. The mace lodges itself into the dummy's head, and I try to yank it out, but it wouldn't budge.

The trainer puts his hand out in front of me and yanks the mace out of the dummy with one pull.

"Thank you," I smirk, trying not to laugh at my own frailness.

I continue swinging the mace at the dummy for a few more minutes, until it is completely ruined. The trainer pats me on the shoulder and begins to clean up the mess I have made. Even though I am not impressive with a mace, it was good to try it out. I should become versatile and learn how to use every weapon just in case.

"Come back whenever you want, not too many people ever come to this station."

What should I do next? Perhaps the archery station? Or the gauntlet?

_Woosh._

Dropping to the ground instinctively, I collapse onto my knees and begin rolling around until the trainer from the mace stations rushes over to me. He kneels down and puts himself in front of me. The trainer looks around, trying to determine where the assailant is located.

I notice the axe that was just thrown at me lodged in the dummy's head behind me. It's one of the sharpest and most lethal axes the Training Center has to offer; not a typical throwing axe or a hatchet, but a double-bladed tomahawk.

The tomahawk is rather deep in the dummy's head, and if that were to be me, I would have been dead by now.

The trainer holds out his hand to block me from getting up. By the time I make any movements, the other Careers have made their way over to me. Quartz pushes his way to the front and kneels down next to me. They all seem worried, but I know one of them had done this.

Who else would dare attack a Career during training?

A Career who isn't too fond of certain members in their own alliance would. More specifically, a tribute from District Two would.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" The trainer pulls me off of the ground and places his hand on my shoulder.

The trainer tightens his grip on my shoulder, probably to restrain me from going off and finding my assailant. Good idea, though, since no one knows what could happen next. But when I do find whoever did this, it won't be pretty.

And I like keeping things pretty.

"Allure, what happened?" Cassiterite asks, attempting sound sincere, but you can hear a sense of mockery in her tone.

"I don't know Cassie, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"How would I know? I was standing over there practicing with my _allies_," she says, adding emphasis on the word 'allies'.

"That's hard to believe, Cassie, it really is," I reply, attempting to hold myself back from strangling this girl with my own hair.

Cassiterite runs her fingers through her hair, "A _volunteer _should be more careful."

"Speak for yourself," I mumble, purposely saying it quietly to alleviate the argument.

"One last question, Allure. A question we've all been wondering."

I raise my eyebrows, "Yes?"

"Why did you volunteer, Allure?"

I clench my fists and keep my mouth shut. The next words that might come out my mouth will not be in Cassiterite's favor.

"I'm waiting, Allure. We all are. Do you want to win for the honor? The fame? The fortune?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I mumble.

"Is it because you're sick and tired of being you?"

I look Cassiterite directly in the eyes, and prepare myself to pounce at her, but Quartz grabs my arm before I can move.

He shakes his head and releases my arm, leaving it dangling to my side. I clench my fists even tighter, but I know I won't hurt Cassiterite.

It's not worth it. She's not worth it. I won't let her threats and mockery get to me, because when she's in need of an ally to come and save her in the arena, I won't be there to help her. Quartz won't either. Only her little 'Anti-One' posse will be.

Even if she has Jem, Quintus, and Lush on her side, I will not let her, or any of them, deter my motives.

And for you information, Cassiterite, my reason for volunteering is much more complex than that. But she wouldn't comprehend it in that narrow-minded and naïve mind of hers.

_Get back to training, Allure, that's why you're here, not to think about some expendable girl._

The only training stations that have little-to-no tributes at them are the Gauntlet and the plant-identification station. At the Gauntlet station, the District Eight female is pointing her finger and waving her hand at a few trainers and Peacekeepers.

I'll save the plant-identification for another time; this girl seems amusing, yet intriguing at the same time.

"Do you see this?" She exclaims, holding one of her boots in the air.

The trainer at the Gauntlet scowls, unsure of what to say back to this girl. The girl throws the boot onto the floor, hitting the trainer's shoes. The trainer moves out of the way, but the girl is obviously not done complaining yet. She pouts, making a few whiny noises.

Regardless of her finicky views on the boots, she has a point. These boots are drab, bland, and unfashionable, but the boots you're wearing should be the least of your worries at the moment.

She dons the boot, tying it back on her foot furiously, making sure to exaggerate every breath she takes. She points at the Gauntlet, expressing that she wants to use the Gauntlet. The District Three male, who was just using it, notices her gesture and scurries off it. He stands to the side, staring at the girl's movements.

The District Eight female leaps onto the first-step of the Gauntlet. The trainer waves his hand, and immediately she leaps from one step to another. She jumps back and forth with ease, smirking to herself triumphantly. This girl, whoever she is, is obviously very agile and an exceptional runner in general.

Just as she leaps onto another gauntlet, she halts, standing there until someone notices her. Everything seems to be in accordance, but something doesn't meet this girl's standards. The girl waves her hands in the air, grabbing few pieces of her hair in the process.

Her hair had gotten in the way of her performance it seems. The girl struggles with getting her hair back into a presentable hair-style, moaning after each attempt. She sits down on one of the Gauntlet's steps, crossing her arms and frowning. She looks at everyone around her, waiting for someone to help her with her hair.

I stand there quietly, debating whether to help her or not. A minute goes by without anyone coming over to help her.

_This is your chance, Allure. Befriend her. Annex a new ally; one that you can trust. _

Without much thought, I begin walking towards the girl. I stay behind her view, making sure she doesn't see me and think I am stalking her. As I get closer, I can hear a soft giggle.

Could that be her? Is she really laughing at herself?

I stand behind the girl with my hands above her head. I gently run my fingers through her hair, causing her to tense up and turn her head towards.

"Finally; someone has heard my plea."

I move the strands of hair away from her face and begin to make two braids with her hair. I don't know if she knows who I am or not, but I choose not to introduce myself just yet. As I finish up braiding her hair, I take the two braids and wrap them around each other. Now, she has a trendy hair-style and I made sure that it will not hinder her performance.

"I appreciate that," she says, trying to sound sincere.

The girl smiles at me, trying to look as sweet as possible, but she is anything but sincere with her fraudulent tone and artificial smile.

She turns to walk away and I grab her shoulder, forcing her to stay where she is. I must draw her attention back towards me. I can use her as an ally, as well as the other Careers.

I know what I must do – get her into the Careers.

She'd be a great addition to the alliance, even if I have only seen her running abilities. She's also very pretty; the sponsors would love her. Additionally, in the long-run, it will help me personally. She would most certainly choose me over the other Careers. I must convince her to the join the Careers, which might be easy enough, but she has to accept my proposal of joining us.

Besides, who would reject an offer to get into the Careers?

"I'm Allure Medina, I say to the girl, holding out my hand.

"I've heard about you; you're the pretty girl from District One," she shakes my hand, but quickly takes back her hand.

"I'm much more than that," I whisper to myself.

She looks at me curiously, unaware of what I had just said.

From the corner of my eye, I notice Cassiterite, as well as Jem, Lush, and Quintus, looking at me. They might not like the idea of this girl in our alliance, but I have to convince them. She's not as useless as some other tributes, and plus, the alliance could always use more members.

"How about we sit down?"

She nods, pointing at the plant-identification station. We both begin to walk over to the station, making sure to make it look not too obvious that we are talking. The station isn't too far from where we are, so the walk there is short. We sit down at the table and put two plant-identification books in front of us.

"I'm Dakota, by the way, from District Eight."

"Nice to meet you, Dakota," I reply sweetly.

"The pleasure's all mine," she coos, trying to sound sincere once again.

"So, you're related to Tabitha, right?"

Dakota nods, "That is correct; she is my sister. Thank you for fixing my hair, by the way."

This is another thing that makes Dakota useful. She's a victor's sibling; the Capitol loves that. She would accrue even more sponsors just from being Tabitha's sister. Impressing the Capitol is simple, especially for the Careers. With Dakota in the Career alliance, we'd have even more sponsors. This perk wouldn't help only me; it would help the whole Career alliance.

"Don't worry about it; I always have time to help another girl with hair troubles out. Anyway, it seems that you're a good runner," I say, trying to get to the point.

"I suppose I am. Why does that concern you, though?" Dakota inquires.

"No particular reason. But, a girl who can run that well must have allies, yes?"

Dakota batters her eyelashes, "Actually, no, I do not."

I widen my eyes, trying to seem surprised, "Would you like some allies?"

Dakota narrows her eyes, "What are you trying to say?"

"I know this is sudden, but I was wondering, would you like to join the Career alliance?"

"Are you serious?" She asks, gaping at me.

"Yes, I am. But, for you to be in, I'd have to approve it by our other members."

"We should go talk to them then, shouldn't we?" Dakota stands up from her seat.

Dakota's eager, which is a good sign. At least she shows some interest in joining the Careers. I'm not sure if she really likes the idea, is just faking it, or has devised a plan of her own. Who knows, she might have some secret plan to slit all of our throats in our sleep. I highly doubt it, but stranger things have happened.

Now is the hard part – getting her into the alliance.

Dakota walks right next to me, and we start walking towards the other Careers. Cassiterite notices me and a smirk forms on her face. She taps Quintus on the shoulder and they both turn towards me. She calls Jem, Lush, and Quartz's names, and they all walk over.

"Look what we have here: A bevy of beauties."

I ignore Cassiterite's remark and smile directly at her as soon as I pass her. I hope Dakota isn't too offended by this; and if she is, she's going to have to get used to it. Now that Dakota is here, I hope Cassiterite won't try to get Dakota onto her side. The Careers all stand in a semi-circle around Dakota and me.

"Do you have something to say, Allure?"

"Well, I have an idea," I answer.

"Do explain," Quintus says curiously.

"I think Dakota should join the Career alliance. Before any of you object, I want you to listen to me."

Quartz, Cassiterite, Jem, Quintus, and Lush all nod in unison. They stand there quietly, waiting for me to continue with my explanation. But, I'm not sure if my argument is well-supported by practicalities. I never thought it would be this challenging to get someone into the Career alliance.

"She's an exceptional runner, she has a wide range of survival skills, and she would attract a lot of sponsors."

Quintus turns towards Cassiterite and looks her directly in the eyes. They exchange eye-contact, and it seems that they are conversing through just their eyes. It seems they can understand each other just from doing that. Cassiterite and Quintus nod, and then Quintus turns towards Quartz, Jem, and Lush. They all nod at each other as well.

"Welcome, Dakota, to the Career alliance," Quintus corroborates.

"Surprising; a District Eight female has met the standards for the Careers more than the District One female," Cassiterite derides.

_And there she goes. I knew it would have been too much to ask her to keep her mouth shut for once._

"Is that so? The standards must have been low this year if you managed to get into the alliance," Dakota snaps.

"Excuse me?" Cassiterite vociferates.

Dakota twirls her hair and batters her eyelashes. Dakota's gesticulation infuriated Cassiterite; Cassiterite broadened her shoulders and move forward a step. Dakota remained where she was, still twirling her hair. Quartz, Jem, and Lush stood back, waiting in anticipation for what is about to happen. Quintus, being the reasonable leader that he is, breaks the two of them up.

"You're all dismissed," Quintus says sternly.

Quintus wraps his hand around Cassiterite's hip and turns her around. The two of them start walking, and Cassiterite tries to turn her head, but Quintus rests his head on Cassiterite's shoulder, not allowing her to turn her head at all. She leans her head on his and the two of them go off to the archery station.

Without saying anything, Dakota walks off back to the plant-identification station. Jem goes off to the sword station and Lush wanders around the training center. Quartz stands next to me, watching Dakota's every move and then looks at me with a look of disapproval.

Quartz grins, "That was nice of you. _Too _nice of you."

"Why? Did I do something wrong?"

"You have good intentions, Allure."

"Well, I really don't care for her skills; it's just that I need someone who will trust me. Someone who will have my back," I opine.

"Do you actually trust her?" Quartz inquires.

"Honestly, I'm not sure yet. She seems all right, but you never know. Do you?"

"No. I don't trust her at all," Quartz berates.

"Well, I can't just kick her out of the alliance now. What do you think I should do?"

"Keep an eye on her. She could be trouble, Allure. We know nothing about her."

I nod obediently, "We know nothing about the others either."

"That's true, but we have some foundation for each of our allies, but not for her."

Should I listen to Quartz? Should I really think that what I have just done is wrong? I'm trying to help us, not get us killed. She seems trustworthy and genuine, but Quartz is right. We know nothing about Dakota; nothing personal, anyway. I planned on keeping a close-eye on her, but now that Quartz mentions it, I need to do more than that. I cannot let her get too attached to Quintus, too friendly with Cassiterite, or too close to me.

Although it would be nice to have another friend like Quartz, I can't let myself be that reckless. This is the Hunger Games; friendships don't mean much and are eventually tested. Hopefully, Quartz and I won't ever get to the point where one of us has to make a major decision between life and death.

"How long do you think this will last?"

He angles his head, letting his hair sway to the side, "What do you mean?"

"This alliance."

"Only time will tell."

"That sounds reassuring," I scoff.

"I just fear that the alliance won't last as long as we hope, especially with the tension between all of us. All of us, even you, need to realize where we are and what is going to happen."

I bite my lip, "I don't understand, Quartz."

"We can fool around, talk about each other behind their backs, and even attempt to kill them, but when the time comes," Quartz trails off, and goes back to looking at Dakota.

"But when the time comes, we will know what to do," I say reassuringly.

"I hope so. Now, let's get back to training; we don't want to waste any more time."

Quartz turns around to walk away, but I grab his hand. For a quick second, he tries to pull it away, but then he leaves his hand in mine. I grip his hand even tighter and look him directly in the eyes.

"Quartz, can I tell you something?"

"Don't make this corny, Allure, but sure."

"I'm really glad we met."

"As am I."

I let his hand go, but he stands there for one more minute. Quartz smirks childishly and holds out his arms. I point own my finger at myself, acting as if I don't know the hug is meant for me. Quartz lunges forward and embraces me with both of his arms. We're in the back corner of the Training Center, so no one notices us. We hug without speaking for a minute. His warmth surrounds me, making me feel comfortable and protected.

His friendship really does mean a lot to me; more than he will ever know. We'd never have any form of romantic relationship because both of us aren't like that. This relationship will always be as friends, and nothing more. Ever since the Reaping Day, our friendship has grown. And it will continue to grow.

Like they say; friendship has no survival value, but it is one of those things that gives value to survival.


	22. Lost Voices

**A/N- **There is a chance after this chapter there's a gap in updates unfortunately as I haven't received the next one yet. But that might change, I may receive it today or tomorrow. Anyway thanks for sticking with us so far, enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Jerin Flynn, District Nine Male**

**Evening of Training Day Two**

_**Jayfish**_

* * *

_You could have saved me, Jerin._

_You could have let me save you._

_But you've always been a selfish person._

* * *

"Hey, Jerin? Could you pass the mashed potatoes?"

I widen my eyes slightly, snorting in surprise. "Ah… What? I'm sorry. I was… I was daydreaming."

Pippa grins at me impishly from across the table. Her pink hair has been brushed hastily to the side and is still slightly mussed from training. Thinking about training makes that familiar nausea rise in my stomach, and I close my eyes and pray for it to go away.

"… Here. Here." I get the bowl in my hands and shove it across the table. Pippa gives me a thankful smile and grabs a spoon, dumping some of the thick mixture onto her plate.

I smile at her, but my smile is wobbly. Then my eyes are drawn back to my plate, and the smile slips away like water.

I can't do this. I can't, I can't, and it's killing me just being alive at this point. It's the anticipation that gets you. If they took us from our homes and tossed us into the arena right away, it would be so much easier. True, we'd never be able to train, to gain sponsors by looking our best, but there would be no constant knowledge that the time is fast approaching. We would be there, fighting, from day one. This, this _waiting _for the inevitable… It's torture. It really is.

"Jerin?" There is an understanding pat on my shoulder, and I turn to stare into the concerned eyes of my mentor, Flux. "Are you okay?"

Shakily, I nod. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

"Then why don't you eat something?" Flux looks pointedly at my empty plate. "You don't have to eat a lot, now. But a little something could help you keep up your strength."

"I got it!" The exuberant voice explodes from across the table, and my stylist, Dican, practically hurls a slab of meat onto my plate. It is dripping with a dark red sauce and could feed my entire family for dinner.

"C'mon Jerin!" Dican whines, as I pause for a fraction of a second. "Flux is right, you _so _have to eat!"

She is an eccentric creature. Her eyelashes are longer than my pinky finger, and probably thicker to boot, studded with silver gems. Her hair is purple and straight like Pippa's, and her skin is a beautiful blue. Right now she is wearing a clingy dress made of shimmering scales. I can't help but wonder how many fish had to die to clothe this woman.

"Come oooon!" she exclaims, and leans across the table. Pippa jerks to the side as Dican snatches her knife and drives it into the slab of meat. Blood splatters onto the plate, and a bit of it manages to land on the back of my hand. I jerk it away and wipe it furiously on the tablecloth.

The knife protrudes from the meat, blood dripping down the silver blade. I take a deep, shuddering breath. "I—I…"

Flux sighs. "You don't have to eat that," he says, whisking the plate away. "Why don't you have some vegetables, okay?" He signals to one of the white-clothed servants standing against the wall. The boy hurries into a room adjoining the dining room, and returns with some kind of mash that looks unappetizing but is probably delicious. It seems like just the thing for an upset stomach. Gratefully, I pick up a fork and begin shoveling the mash into my mouth. Sure enough, it is fantastic.

"How was training today?" asks Flux, trying to keep the conversation going. I managed to kill it with my silence. Blushing slightly, I press my head closer to my plate and say nothing.

Thankfully, Pippa has the wherewithal to answer for both of us. "Fine," she says, between a mouthful of potatoes. "I beat the girl from Seven at the edible plants test."

"Good, good," says Flux, before turning to me. "And you? Jerin?"

Painfully, I swallow. "It was good," I repeat, fixing my eyes on the glass of water standing in front of me. "Nothing really happened," I admit. "Pippa's good with a knife, though."

Pippa rolls her eyes. "Not _really, _Jerin," she exclaims. "I mean, I can _hold _it."

That one makes me smile. "Well, I can't."

"'Course you can!" Pippa says exuberantly, shoving a butter knife across the table towards me. "Bet you can hold that!"

I want to protest, but everyone is looking at me. "Okay," I concede, and pluck up the knife carefully with the tips of my fingers. Pippa gives me a look, and Flux looks rather lost.

Suddenly, I am ashamed. I drop the knife with a clatter. "See," I mumble. "I can't really hold it. Not in the way it matters."

The silence is awkward and palpable. "It's alright, Jerin," says Flux finally, in an obvious attempt to rejuvenate the conversation. He motions to the white-garbed servants again. "I think it's time for dessert," he says quietly.

Pippa and Dican both wear identical grins. "_Dessert," _says Dican, licking her lips. "Nothing better!"

"Can we have ice cream?" I blurt, and then freeze. A terrible mistake. Why would I ask that? The first and last time I had ice cream was with… her…

* * *

_It was so cold it burned our brains._

_Maybe it burned them so much that they were broken._

_Scorched, burned, frozen to death._

_Just like you'll be._

* * *

"Jerin!" Flux is shaking me. I realize that I have been daydreaming again, falling into that dark place where nothing exists but her voice, mocking me. "Snap out of it!"

"I'm sorry!" My voice is mildly harsh, and Flux's hands fall away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Somehow, my fellows at the table know that I'm not really talking to them. I wonder if Flux knows about what happened. I know Pippa does; I told her in a fit of self-loathing. If Dican knows, I don't think I'll be able to handle it.

"I just wanted to ask you if you wanted chocolate or vanilla, or whatever you like," says Flux wonderingly. "You can't keep on doing that, Jerin. It's dangerous."

My throat feels clogged. "Yeah," I mumble, looking at my hands. "Well. I don't want ice cream anymore."

Again, Flux seems lost. "Do you want something else?"

"No," I mutter, shaking my head dejectedly back and forth. "I don't want anything else."

"He wants to sleep!" Dican blurts. "They _always _want to sleep, because they can't sleep on the night before launch. Everybody knows _that."_

"But," says Pippa. "We were going to talk strategy. Weren't we?"

I look up at her, take in her confused expression. I'm not sure how I feel about the other people gathered at this table, but I know I like Pippa. "I'll wake up again," I say. "Or maybe… you can wake me up when you're ready."

She nods. "Okay, Jerin," she says. Her voice is soft and vaguely comforting. I don't think there's any voice in the world that can really comfort me anymore, but hers comes close.

With a screech, I push my chair away from the table. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, and I try to bring myself to care. There's nothing.

My room is a luxurious place. I slink there now, shutting the door quietly behind me. For a moment, I stand with my ear to the door, listening intently. There is an awkward silence, and then Flux says something. Soon enough, the chatter has resumed.

I breathe a sigh of relief and slump against the door. Truth be told, I've been putting on a face for the escort and mentor and stylists. I've been putting on a face for Pippa. That face is only mildly terrified about what is to come.

Truth is, I'm much more than terrified.

I resist the urge to fall to my knees. My bed floats in the center of the room, and it calls to me like the song of a siren. I stumble towards it and collapse into the soft covers, face-first. The skin of my torso crawls and I suddenly feel constricted by my shirt. Frantically, I tear it away from my skin and let it flutter to the ground.

There now. Panting quietly, I manage to wriggle under the covers. I'm safe and warm, warmer than I've ever been in my life, and still there is a chill sweeping over me. I'm so, so tired, but I can't go to sleep. I can't go to sleep, because _she'll _be there.

* * *

_Can't even think my name anymore._

_Did you forget it?_

_Try and remember._

* * *

She isn't real. The voice in my head isn't a voice. I'm not crazy. I'm just imaginative, and so frightened, and I need a friend. Even if that friend is my own voice in my head. Because _she's _dead, and despite everything, she isn't going to come back.

I stare up at the ceiling and clap my hands. The room, previously filled with a fluorescent glow, goes dark. The only light comes from a strip under the door, where dinner is still going on. Phrases and bits of words float through the walls and I hear them and smile.

Somehow, I feel less alone the farther away I am from them. When I'm sitting at the table, all I can think about is how alienated I am from the others. Despite everything, they can never hope to understand. Even Pippa will never really know. It makes me sad, sitting there and realizing that. They'll never be like me, and I envy them that.

But here in the darkness, I am comforted by the fact that they are close. They can protect me from any superficial dangers of the night. What I am truly terrified of, I must face on my own. But the soft voices and the fuzzy words comfort me all the same.

I breathe evenly, trying to calm myself down. I _am _tired, and I don't think I'll be able to sleep later. But I don't want to sleep, because every sleep I've had since the reaping has been punctuated by vicious nightmares, where that _song _shrieks in my head and images dance in my brain like perverse movies.

_Maybe that won't happen this time, _I tell myself, although I am well aware that it will. I manage to close my eyes and resist the urge to open them again. _Count down from ten, _I tell myself. When I've done that and I'm still not asleep, I count down from 20.

I am counting down from 100 before I finally slip into my dreams.

_Three dreams, three vignettes, three little stories._

…

_I am sitting at the table in the training center room. In front of me, there is a plate. It is empty, and it looks like a slice of the moon sitting before me._

_There is a snake with Morgan's voice, wrapped around my neck. "Eat (_alouette)_," she hisses, stroking my cheek with her scaly tail. I realize that there is a ruby at the center of the plate. No, it is not a ruby. It is a drop of blood, and it grows until it is not a plate but a dish of blood before me. Skin and muscle and bone sprout from the blood like a shrub from dirt. Hair grows from a bare skull. Eyelids blink over dull eyes._

_Pippa's head grins up at me. "Yeah, Jerin," she says. "Eat me. Come on. Do it."_

_Morgan has begun to sing. I find that there is a fork in my hand, and a knife. I lean in, press the fork against the grinning skull, and when I pull it away there is a ruby on the prongs._

_As I chew it, my cheek spreads and morphs and tears into a thousand bloody pieces._

…

_I can't move. I struggle violently, but I am caged, crouched behind bars that constrict. Faces leer at me, twisted and grinning. _

_"I'll pay ten for the scrawny one." A voice rings out over the chatter._

_Suddenly, there is the stillness of anticipation. "Twenty!"_

_"Ninety!"_

_"Two hundred!"_

_The voices stop and blackness darker than night flows around me. My chest spasms with pretend pain, but it is the realest thing I've ever felt. I gasp and choke, hunched over, back straining._

_In front of me, there is a hand made of glass, reaching towards my chest with a cupped palm. Waiting for something. The glass woman that goes along with it smiles as my chest begins to split. Blood drips onto the crystal skin. As I watch, my snake-like jungle vine veins fall limp and dead from my chest. There is the feeling of a huge loss, and suddenly I can breathe easily._

_My still-beating heart pulsates in the glass woman's hand. I fall to my knees before her and try to say her name, but she only smiles and clenches my heart in her beautiful glass fist. Blood and syrup flow from the sides and drip down her wrist. I feel it coming out of my nose and I let myself die._

…

_A saw blade gleams with the light of a nuclear reactor. It dances in front of me. Unwillingly, I am drawn towards it. All around is blackness, but for the saw, the conveyor belt, and me. The pig in front of me squeals and shakes its fuzzy head. Then the saw _whirrs _and the pig is two halves of a pig. They twitch and dance as the belt rolls on and on._

_My turn for the saw. Suddenly it is not a saw at all, but a contraption of tongues and teeth. As it chews away my arms, it licks me all over, and I grunt because I am a pig now, aren't I?_

_No arms, I'm a pig. I fall into the collection bin and don't move. The pig-halves smear me with red juice and I still don't move. I can feel the colors leaking out of my shoulder blades, and still I don't move. _Stay still and there's no escaping.

_And then there is no one there but me and her. She stands and she is like a god, with a thousand eyes that open and close and dare me to be anything more than livestock. With no arms, all I can do is bow to her. I do, and she laughs, and then the whole world is laughing._

_Red. Everything is red. "Jerin! Jerin!" Who is calling me? The voice seems cast up from the veins that pulsate under my feet. _Squish, squish. _Who's heart am I in? Pippa's? Dican's? No, it is MORGAN'S heart, a maze which I will never escape from. I'll die here. I'll die here. I'll die here. I'll die—_

…

"JERIN!"

I gasp, pitching forward. The sheets are crumpled around me, the covers kicked off the bed entirely. I am drenched in sweat and my hair is plastered to my forehead. My heart is pounding erratically in my chest. Ruefully, I run my hand across my skin. My palm comes away damp.

"Hey." Pippa is looking at me with a disturbed expression. I realize that she must have had difficulties waking me, what with my thrashing and all. I take in the bruise forming on her hand, and I realize that I must have hit her.

"Oh no," I whisper, looking at the bruise. "Pippa—I'm so…"

She waves away my apology. "It's alright. You were asleep! You couldn't help it."

"I guess," I whisper, feeling miserable. My skin is sickly pale in the darkness; my ribs grossly prominent. In comparison, Pippa looks vibrant and full of life, even in the darkness. I don't understand how she does it, but she makes me happy.

After a moment, she looks away. "Maybe you should…"

"Oh!" I pull the sheets up to my chin. "Um," I add, after a moment. "Could you pass me my shirt? It's over there." She complies, and turns away as I slip back into the fabric.

Now that I'm decent, she can look at me again. She is sitting on the edge of the bed, close enough so that our fingers brush against each other's when we shift. She has on a pensive expression. Her hair dances in the darkness.

"We need to talk strategy, like Flux said," she says finally.

I nod hastily. "Right. Of course." I've agreed with her statement, but when I try to think of something, _anything, _my mind is blank.

"I've been thinking," says Pippa. "During the Bloodbath, I don't think we should get too involved in any fights or anything. I mean, as a team we'd definitely do well fighting…" She trails off, probably because she knows she can't support this blatant lie. "Well, we'd do alright," she amends. "But we probably shouldn't fight at all."

"Right. Okay," I say.

She blinks. "Jerin, you can't just agree with everything I say," she admonishes gently. "You're supposed to tell me your opinion, and then we talk about it."

I gulp. "Well—I mean—your opinion is my opinion. We have the same opinion." I smile weakly; she rolls her eyes but grins despite herself.

"Okay," she says. "What about after?"

I think about it. "Is… is there anything to plan after?" I ask. "I mean… I think that you have to wait and see what happens before making any plans. Anything is possible."

Pippa nods energetically. "Right. That makes sense, Jerin." She crosses her arms over her chest and frowns. "Are you any good at edible plants? Or finding food?"

I shrug. Coming from District Nine, both of us are well-versed in grains and wheat. I'm sure that the both of us could find and harvest something out of grain, if there was any to be found in our arena. But there isn't any guarantee of that. To be on the safe side, I shake my head. "Not really."

She nods. "Yeah. Me, neither. We'll just have to do what we can. Maybe we can steal it from other tributes, but that seems dangerous. Only if we don't have any other options…" She sighs mistily. "What do you think our arena will be like, Jerin?"

If there's anything I don't want to think about, it's the arena. But I don't want to leave Pippa's question unanswered. "I don't know," I admit. "It won't be good, probably."

She smiles grimly. "That's a given."

After a moment of silence, she goes on. "They're usually natural," she says, "so maybe some kind of island in a lake, with streams and plants and animals. Like a paradise."

"An arena paradise?"

"_Like _a paradise," she reminds me. "The arena could never be _that _good, not in a million years."

I nod emphatically. Suddenly, Pippa's guessing game seems weirdly therapeutic. Leaning against the headboard, I join in. "Maybe it'll be a big field, with hills and burrows underneath them. Lots of places to hide, but only if you're good at hiding." _That sounds good to me, _I think to myself. _If there's anything I'm good at, it's going unnoticed._

"And we're good at hiding, aren't we, Jerin?" asks Pippa, looking pleased. "Well," she amends, "at least _you're _good at hiding. Hopefully it'll be enough!"

I am filled with conviction. "Yes," I say. "It _will _be enough." Pippa is a good, gentle person. She doesn't deserve to be here, and I'm determined that we both get as far as possible to the end. It is so unlikely that either of us will get close that I'm willing to risk us being the last two left. I don't see it. More importantly, I don't want to think about it. It is a painful idea, and doubtless an even more painful scenario to be trapped in.

For a while, we are both quiet as we think our separate thoughts, dream our separate dreams. "You know," I say softly, "you woke me up from a nightmare."

"Oh, I know," says Pippa. "You were moaning. You were really upset."

I duck my head. "Well," I mumble. "Thanks for doing that. It was… it was pretty bad there, towards the end."

She turns to me, curiosity shining in her eyes. "What was it about?"

I am silent. How do I describe the meaningless, surrealist hell that is the landscape of my subconscious? "It was about the Games," I say finally, because in all honesty that is probably the real focus of my dreams at this point. "And… dying."

"Ah," she says, nodding slowly. Her hand comes out and presses my shoulder. For a moment, I am reminded of my arm stumps from my dream, and nearly wince. I stop myself from making the face, though. I don't want Pippa to think I'm averse to her comfort. In truth, I almost need it. It makes me feel safe.

Pippa yawns, baring pure white teeth. "I'm tired," she admits with a small shrug. "And I think we're done here. Maybe I should get some rest." A thought occurs to her, and she lights up. "I'll stay here," she decides, "until you fall asleep. And then you won't have nightmares!"

"Oh, Pippa…" I attempt, but she shakes her head and nudges me into the pillows. "Go to sleep, Jerin," she commands, still stroking my shoulder.

I can't ignore her. I close my eyes and go still. For a while, the silence and the stroking is awkward, but it rapidly turns relaxing. _Thank you… Pippa…_

There are no dreams at all.

Only a voice, for a moment.

* * *

_Try and remember, Jerin._

_I am Morgan. I am your friend. _

_I am your pain, and you will bleed for the rest of your life._

_I promise._


	23. The Twist

**A/N- **Uh, this is DA Member Hogwarts, uh me, Megan. I'm on Jake's account and no I'm not going to spam people or read his PM's. The day Jake finally got sent this update... his sister like I don't know... punched his laptop and broke it? LOL He's lost all of his documents and his laptop isn't working so I have come to the rescue to bring you beautiful people an update. Sorry for the wait but we've just had a bit of a problem with getting this chapter (no one's fault!) and as I have said, Jake's sister abused his computer... so yeah! Enjoy... and Teddy refrain from any annoying comments if I make spelling errors. (P.S. HI CHAOS! ILY!)  
Alright goodbye! Praise Nomen Clature!

* * *

**Tyrion Pond, District Seven Male**

**Training Day Three**

**_Written by androidilenya, Submitted by LoveIsBlindness  
_**

* * *

_I'm standing outside the shop again, just like I was that morning - the morning before it all changed, before they called me up and told me I was going to die. And he's with me, of course he's with me. Percy's always there, right by my side. It's because he's my best friend, and isn't that what friends are for, to always be by your side?_

_He turns to me, ice-blue eyes flashing bright in the sun, mouth moving. I love his voice - could listen to it forever, really, and never ever get tired of it._

_"Ty, I don't care if you're gay. You're my best friend." His smile is brilliant and blindingly confident, teeth gleaming white. They're the same words he spoke at the Reaping, and that confuses me. Why should he be saying them now? _

_I frown at him, try to force a smile onto my own face to mirror his. If he knew the truth - the whole truth... if he knew that the only one I really, truly wanted to be with was him... would he still be so friendly? Would he still be smiling that cheerful, carefree smile, or would he turn away in disgust?_

_A shadow looms up from behind him and my eyes widen with shock as I recognize the Peacekeeper that pulled me aside right before the Reaping, the one that threatened me with twenty lashes for stealing bread. We call him the Cruel behind his back, Maddox the Cruel, because there's nothing tender about this man, not a shred of compassion or respect for human dignity. And here he is now, white uniform spotless as always, raising his whip till it seems to blot out the sun, casting long wings of darkness over Percy and I._

_"Percy!" I croak, backing away, but he doesn't hear me, he's still smiling obliviously and Maddox is smiling too, hard and cruel as stone-_

_The whip whistles down and Percy finally turns, realization dawning on his perfect face. I scream as the deafening crack echoes across the street, as a spray of blood spatters the dirt at my feet, as he falls to his knees. The whip rises and falls in a merciless rhythm and all I can do is watch, rooted to the ground by my own fear as the blood spreads and pools, as Percy shudders and the screams fade away into a horrifying silence-_

I wake in a cold sweat, tearing the blankets from me and hurling them across the room. Panting, I clench my fists and try to calm my racing heart. Just a dream. Dreams can't hurt me. Percy's fine, he's not going to get hurt - in fact, I'm the one who should be worried about bodily harm, considering where I am and why.

"Tyrion?"

I tense, glancing up and meeting the clear eyes of my District partner, Kilea. She's standing in my doorway, frowning. "I heard you cry out."

I stare at her, mouth opening and closing slightly. "Uh... no you didn't. That was... someone else." It's a bad lie, and I don't know why I bother when it's so obvious. But who wants to admit that they were screaming in their sleep, even if nightmares must be a pretty common thing among tributes?

Kilea giggles. "Whatever you say, Tyrion." She regards me, grey eyes bright. "But it's okay to have bad dreams. I miss my home, too."

"D-do you?" It's the only reply I can think of, and the words see awkward and clumsy in my mouth. I don't know how to talk to this girl, my District partner... not when I might have to see her dead or worse, have to kill her (though the opposite is more likely - her having to kill me).

"My little brother, mostly." Her face takes on a far-away look as though she's immersed in memory. "Tomas always needed me there."

I shrug. "Yeah. My siblings don't need me too bad. That's nice, though." I wonder if Percy misses me. I'm sure he does - we're best friends, after all. I wonder if Shelly's comforting him, or the other way around. It's nice to think that someone misses me, at least.

She gives me an odd look, then steps back, face closing off as though she's remembered something. "Anyways. Paris says it's time for breakfast. You shouldn't sleep so late."

I watch as she sweeps out. I bet I know why she turned away so suddenly - we aren't going to be allies. She doesn't need to talk to me, or get close to me, or earn my trust, because if we see each other in the arena, our only job is to kill each other. And it's easier to kill a stranger than someone you've talked to about the family waiting back at home for you. So it's safest to pretend that you don't care, that you can't care about the other person. And it's safest to never admit weakness in front of someone who could be forced to use that weakness against you.

I sigh and slip out of my nightshirt. She's right, anyways. I should be doing my best to survive, just like she is. For Shelly and Percy, if no one else.

We all have our reasons to want to go home.

Kilea leaves breakfast early, but I take my time. Braving the training room every day is something she's turned out to be better at, so far. My first impression of her was a shy, normal kid - well, besides the fact that she volunteered, which was pretty dang _ab_normal - but she's a pretty big goof-off once she gets comfortable. I, on the other hand, tend to choke on my own tongue every time I open my mouth.

I finally push away from the table once my mentor starts giving me exasperated glances and looking pointedly at the clock. I mumble something under my breath - I'm not even sure what, but it must have been acceptable, because no one stops me or says anything as I trudge over to the elevator and punch the button. The light indicates that it was on its way down from the tenth floor anyways, and I realize after I press the call button that that means there's probably another tribute in there. Great. Just what I need. Social interaction with humans - another chance to screw up.

The door hisses open and I step in, trying to avoid eye contact with the only other occupant, the District Ten boy. I forget his name, of course - it might start with an 'n'... Ned, or something?

"You're Tyrion, right?" the boy asks suddenly, voice echoing loud in the tiny chamber as the doors sweep closed. I feel the floor shudder as the elevator starts moving, and the soft swooping sensation in my stomach that accompanies the motion.

I flinch. "Yes." Great. I am definitely going to say something stupid really soon. Because that's just what I do. In general. "I forget your name," I admit, hoping he won't take offense at that.

"Nex Winters," he replies calmly, no sign of anger. He doesn't offer his hand to shake, like it would be normal to, but I don't mind. This is quickly getting very awkward.

When he doesn't say anything further, I wonder if he expects me to continue the conversation. Panicked, I cast around for a suitable topic. My mentor's breakfast happens to be the first thing that comes to mind. "Uh... do you like cheese?"

He arches an eyebrow and turns to me, green eyes coldly bemused. "Excuse me?"

My face starts to burn and I look at my feet, inwardly cursing my pathetic inability to interact with normal people. "I - never mind." Of all the things to bring up, why cheese? It just happened to be the first thing on my mind... and the first thing that slipped out of my mouth...

"I've heard rumors about you, Tyrion," Nex muses, sounding almost amused.

"Y-yeah?" Rumors? That doesn't sound good. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of staying below everyone's radar.

"I hear you're gay."

I blink, surprised. Do I deny it, or do I go with it? A more normal kid would laugh this off, treat it like a joke... but I've hesitated a bit too long for that, and my silence seems to be all the answer he needs.

"Too bad that kind of thing won't help you in the arena. Unless you're planning on using it to manipulate sponsors? That might work for you, you know," he says, regarding me with cold green eyes.

"What? I'd never-" Dear Lord, I hope this elevator ride is over soon. How could he suggest something like that - like I'm not really - like this is some kind of game-

"Seems like you weren't smart enough to think of that on your own." Nex shrugs, a cynical smile twisting his lips. "I doubt you'll survive long, Tyrion, if you can't even come up with such simple ideas all by yourself. Original thinking, that's what gets you to victory. Pity you don't seem capable of it."

The elevator jerks to a halt and he steps out into the training room, not even bothering to glance back at me. I stare for a long time, until the elevator doors start to close again. Then I exit hurriedly, still a bit shaken by my encounter.

I spend most of my training time as I have the past two days - in the corner, near the more survival-oriented stations, trying to memorize as much of the information there as I can. No weapons for me - even if the Careers hadn't commandeered those particular areas, I've decided to listen to what the trainers said that first day. Learning how to avoid poisonous plants and purify water might be more important than learning how to kill people, because as long as I survive the bloodbath, as long as I find a hiding spot... I should be fine, right?

Besides, surely I can get my hands on a knife or something and figure out how to use it. The principle of it is pretty simple - stick them with the pointy end.

My eyes dart over the screen as a computerized display flashes across it, a leafy silhouette imprinted black-on-white. Hemlock. Poisonous. I know this one - it keeps showing up.

The two tributes from District Eleven pass by me and I pause to watch them. They've been pretty quiet, too, basically only talking to each other. I guess it's clear that they're going to be allies, unlike Kilea and I.

"Cyrus, don't you hypothesize we ought to train with the weaponry a little bit more?" the girl asks, red hair falling in her face as she looks over at her District partner. The boy's eyes keep darting off and up to the side, as if looking at something that isn't there.

"We did that yesterday. Lili wants us to do survival today," he mumbles.

"I know, but don't you think-"

"She's the one that's won this already, Elliah," the boy sighs.

I smile as they move out of earshot. Looks like I'm doing the right thing - my mentor hasn't said much on the subject, probably because I'm not the best listener, but if others are getting advice to go check out the survival stations then there must be _something_ worth learning there.

I suppress a twinge of jealousy and - maybe - loneliness as I watch the District Eleven kids move towards the rope-tying station. I haven't got anyone like that to talk to, not like they have each other. I wouldn't wish Percy here for anything, because that'd mean that he'd be here to die, too... and the same goes for Shelly and her mute smile, her skilled fingers as she signs her latest witty comment at me. She was always the one member of my family I felt closest to, the one I could talk to without making an utter fool of myself... and now I don't even have her. I bet she'd be doing a better job at making friends - or at least allies - here than I am.

The soft ring of a bell jolts me from my thoughts and I look up to see a Gamemaker dressed all in black standing and gesturing for attention. His dark eyes are unamused, and he has a close-trimmed beard streaked with grey.

"I have an announcement that has a rather large impact on your immediate future," he says dryly when his bell fails to draw the necessary attention. "Seeing as I hold your lives in my hand, I suggest you _listen up_."

That gets everyone looking. I notice that the Careers are the rowdiest - they all scare me, the girls most of all. There's something particularly intimidating about the District Four girl, Lush. Most of the other kids settle down quickly enough. The Gamemaker clears his throat and begins again. He reaches back and lifts up something for all of us to see - a large backpack, dangling from two shoulder straps.

"This year, there will be a slight twist to the procedure of the first day. Each of you will receive one of these-" He gave a shake of the pack for emphasis, and something in it clanked, "-right before you enter your launch tube. In each is one, and _only_ one weapon."

There's a buzz among the non-Careers at these words - they're excited, now. Where before they would have had only a slim chance of being able to get to the cornucopia in time to get a weapon before the Careers got them, now they're entering the arena with a weapon and, consequentially, a chance. The Careers don't seem too upset by it, they probably figure they'll still have the advantage in the bloodbath by virtue of their natural strength. The Gamemaker's next words change that.

"This will be the only weapon you will have during the beginning of the Games." He raises an eyebrow, waits for the shocked murmurs to die down. "And these weapons will range from this-" He pulls out a long, wicked-sharp battle axe and flourishes it, drawing every eye, "to this. Including anything in between." He hefts a flimsy stick in one hand and tosses it into the air, watching it clatter against the floor. "May the odds be _ever_ in your favor," he finishes, a sardonic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

I blink. So we could get an amazing weapon - one that could basically win the Games for us, if we have the guts to use it - or we could get the lamest, most pathetic weapon possible. And it's all up to the Gamemakers.

Well, I know which one I'd rather have, of the two choices presented. Because it's pretty hard to defend yourself with a stick, isn't it?

I glance over at the other tributes. Some of them seem excited about this new development, others nervous, others just... noncommittal. Some of them look exactly how I feel - hopeful. Because now I might have a chance. If I get lucky enough... if they give me a good weapon... well, it all comes down to luck, doesn't it? It always seems to, in the Hunger Games.


	24. A Cause for Life, a Fight for Death

**A/N- **Sorry for the wait, I did get my laptop back Wednesday but I only just got round to updating today xD Thanks to Megan for updating for me, there was a long wait so I wanted to get at least one chapter out whilst I was away :D Anyway enjoy this next chapter, hopefully we can stick to the schedule from now on!

* * *

**Spark Themis, District Three Female**

**Evening of Training Day Three**

_**Chaos In Her Wake**_

* * *

"Widen your stance!" the instructor snaps at me, spreading her feet about shoulder width apart in order to demonstrate. Seriously? I'm two inches different at most. However, I carefully copy the movements, trying not to let snide comments slip out of my mouth. I already was basically kicked out from the camouflage station after telling the instructor there that if he was any good at designing patterns, his Capitol face wouldn't be so garish.

Sometimes it's just too good to resist. Other times, you have to rein yourself in and it doesn't matter how cynical you feel. This could save my life. I need the knowledge.

I adjust my grip on the quarterstaff, trying to get a good balance between my hands and the long wooden pole. I nod at the instructor when I think I've got it and she picks up her staff as well.

I've been here for an hour and a half now, and the thing about this lady is she always likes to have the first move. I won't let her, not this time. I make a downward swipe at her knees, which she easily blocks. The parry is much slower than the earlier movements, and I glance at the instructor's expression. She's shocked, almost angry, and that's when, with one quick jab at my feet, she knocks me onto the padded mat. I never even see it coming, I just am suddenly on the ground with the wind knocked out of me.

"Never let your guard down," the formal, teacherly tone returns to the woman's voice. It's hard to think of her as a teacher when she has a weapon set on my back, though. We're working with bladed staves, and even though the blades are too dull to cut, they're dangerous.

Not that I have the skills to land a hit on this trainer yet. I can predict her moves, even plan out a strategy to win, but I don't have the physical ability to carry out my plans. I learn; I don't act.

I drag myself off the mat and brush myself off gingerly. This must be the thirtieth time I've ended up on the ground at this station alone. It's so educational. I'm sure that learning which angles of collapse hurt the most will help me win in the Hunger Games. Yippee.

Before I can force myself to give the quarterstaff another attempt or even try my hand at one of the other weapons, the head trainer comes up and tells us that we're dismissed. I feel like I should be throwing down the staff and running gleefully toward the doors. I didn't exactly have fun during these three days of learn-everything-you-need-to-to-keep-yourself-from -dying, but I don't feel anywhere close to prepared. Of course I don't- the girl who failed all her classes but history and math is not expected to learn all the survival skills and all the weapons in three days. Well, one day total, seeing as we have about eight hours of training time for each day. Even better.

I toss the quarterstaff away and it skitters to a stop at the trainer's feet. She glares at me as I go but, even though I can feel her gaze on my back, I don't acknowledge it. I am done here.

The other tributes pour out the doors, and I follow behind. They all split up into their precious alliances as they exit, clumping together and hoping that none of the stronger tributes will join them in the elevators. I've looked at the tributes- all of them, and all of their dynamics- and I will not be having any of them by my side in the Games. They're all too young, too old, too sly, too strong. The girl from Five, Rima, I actually considered, but then cast away the idea. We're too much alike. And none of the rest will stay loyal like I would to a friend. Being on my own is better. I don't have to watch what I say.

I stand to the side as other groups go up their district floors. I even see Wyatt going to the elevator with Adalia Davenport, the girl from Ten. He's told me that they are allies, so it doesn't surprise me to see them together, but it hurts. This little boy will die, either at this girl's hand or alongside her.

Most of the tributes are long gone when I step into the sleek elevator cage. Turning to face the lobby area once more, I see the little girl from Six standing alone, hesitant to join me but reluctant to remain alone. I press my hand across the edge of the door, preventing it from closing.

"Get in, girl," I say, "I'd be an animal if I wanted to hurt you already." Startled, the tiny thing scrambles into the elevator with me and assumes position on the other side of the little space. I let the door slide shut and press the button for my floor, making Six come over and choose her own floor. I lean against the wall as the elevator shoots up. I'm still not used to this; my stomach feels like it's dropping out of my body.

The other girl is watching me closely. I like observing people, not being observed myself. I shoot her an angry glance and she casts her eyes downward. Surprisingly enough, she chooses to speak to me. "How are you doing?"

I laugh bitterly. "Seeing as I'm probably going to end up dead in a few days, better than expected. What about you, Six?"

"Oh, I'm getting through it all right." She's lying, I can see that she's terribly afraid. She's extremely formal as well.

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a teacher, kid. You don't have to talk to anyone like that. Now, let's try again. How are you, Six?"

"I'm Greylyn Conway, not 'Six'."

"And I'm Spark Themis. But your name isn't equivalent to your feelings."

"Scared. I'm scared." Well, duh. Who isn't, except the sadists and the masochists? "How has training been going?"

Well, she's more patient with me than most, I'll give her that. This Greylyn kid is like a little old lady in a twelve-year-old body. "Fine. Just peachy. Except for the fact that the weapons instructors probably want me dead."

Greylyn stifles a giggle there. I look at the twelve-year-old again, more carefully this time. "What about you, Greylyn? I'm not going to tell about myself without some information about the person I'm talking to."

"I've just gone around at some of the different stations," she squirms as she talks- good. I'm not the only one who feels awkward talking about themself. "Nothing much, there's a few things I learned but I'm not big enough to even handle some of the weapons. I saw you with that staff though, you looked like you were doing a good job."

"Ha!" Greylyn flinches at my outburst. "Me, good with that stupid quarterstaff? I could hold it and swing it, and that was it."

"Better than most of us!" Greylyn protests. I snort. Has she even seen the trained tributes? They can use just about any weapon perfectly within five minutes of picking it up. However, I file away the compliment for later comfort.

"Hey, kid, don't talk like that. One of us gets out alive but last year it was that little girl from my district. You've got a better chance than I do. They don't want two scrawny victors from the same district in consequent years."

"Spark, do you actually think you are going to die?" Oh man, she just asked the question. I won't have time to answer before the elevator reaches my floor. So I slam the emergency stop button on the elevator control panel and the box shudders to a stop. I barely keep my balance and grab Greylyn by the shoulders to keep her from collapse.

"Greylyn Conway, twenty-three of us are going to die and, yes, I think I will be one of them. I will fight. I might even kill. But I think that I will be coming out of that arena as a corpse, and going home in a wooden box. And chances are that you'll die too. You're twelve. But never- NEVER- stop fighting." I push the girl away and slump against the wall again. "Have anything else to say to me?"

"How could you give up like that? How can you fight without a cause?" The girl is confused, shocked, and more than a little appalled.

"So you think that my realism means I've given up? You think I have no reason to try? You're wrong again, Six. I have my friends. Wick. He's funny and loyal and he's the only boy that I bother to talk to. There's Xitlally. She's sweet and smart and blind. She needs me. I always was her eyes, and she doesn't have anyone else to turn to but Wick and he can't always be there for her. And I've got my parents and my brilliant older sister Minerva who I want to see again. And my-" I break off there. I don't spill my feelings out like this, and here I am about to tell this twelve year old everything.

"Your what? It's all right, you can tell me. It's not like it's much of a secret anymore. We're stuck in an elevator and in a few days we'll be stuck in the arena." I hesitate. The girl's reasoning isn't bad and she doesn't seem like she's trying to manipulate me. If I'm going to break down anyway, I might as well let it all out.

"My fear. My fear of death. I don't want to die, I'm petrified at the thought of death. I will fight to stay alive. But… I don't want to change. Change is terrifying. Constancy is reliable and soothing" Greylyn nods in agreement and I smile ruefully. She's already been through too much, just coming to the Capitol like this. Goodbye childhood. "So what about you, Six? If you die, what will you die fighting for?"

"I don't know," Greylyn whispers, "My mother never said goodbye to me. She fainted at the reaping and never came to say goodbye. My father never seemed upset. He just told me to do well. I… I told him…" her voice squeaks a little and I bite my lip. I'm not good at comfort. "I told him that I wouldn't be coming back! And my friend, my friend was happy. She thought it was a good thing that I was going to the Games!" She bursts into tears and covers her little face with her hands.

"Kiddo, that's not a friend."

"I know, I know. But I thought she was!" Greylyn flings herself into my arms, a momentary spike of sorrow that requires the physical comfort of another person. I stiffen up when she hugs me, but it's only a few moments before I relax and pat the younger girl on the back. We sit together, two souls on the road to death with our lives laid bare before each other, for what seems like an eternity.

Suddenly, the elevator jolts back into motion and a scraping, screeching sound echoes in the box. "They got it started again. They're bringing us to the next floor," I explain to Greylyn, checking the number on the small display panel, "My stop."

Sure enough, the doors creak open on floor three and I gently push Greylyn away before stepping out. "See ya, kiddo. Keep fighting." She smiles faintly at me as the elevator doors slide shut. They've gotten it righted on the track again, and the little girl is off to floor six.

If we're both going to lose let's go out strong. Because, let's face it, the odds are not in our favor.

I turn to the luxurious area where Wyatt, Matilda, Neon, and M'shell are sitting. They haven't noticed my arrival yet; Wyatt is rattling on about his day at training and they're all listening intently. M'shell laps up every word like it's water and she's in a desert; Neon seems pained as Wyatt recounts his actions; Matilda takes it all in wearily. "And then we went to the edible plants station and I looked at some of the leaves and berries and it was all really neat!" Wyatt makes a face, "I didn't score too well on the test we had to take there, though."

"Are we gonna eat or what?" I call sharply from the other side of the room. I don't especially care about Wyatt's day, or his alliance with the Ten girl. Four pairs of eyes lock on me, and suddenly I feel the urge to shrink down and disappear. "Sorry, sorry for interrupting. But seriously. I'm hungry." Wyatt waves brightly at me and I allow a small smile to quirk the corners of my mouth. At least someone is genuinely glad that I'm around.

M'shell bustles over to me, fussing with my short hair- it's probably too disorderly for this shallow woman- and wringing her hands. "Dear girl, this long in the Capitol and you're still hungry? Oh, that district life must have starved you! Such a pity that you'll only have proper nourishment this week before you are thrust back into hardship!"

Hardship? That's certainly mild. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me about that." M'shell shoots me a look but I make a face at her and she whirls back around to focus on Wyatt.

"So, what were you saying about that edible plants station, Mr. Kipper?"

Wyatt declines to answer and instead glances at me. "I'm hungry too. When will we eat?" M'shell coos over him almost sincerely and motions to a pair of Avoxes to bring out a meal. The little kids get all the attention. Hmph. Wyatt is obviously the better-natured of us district partners and M'shell never refuses him anything. If she were a good person I could say that she honestly wants him to be treated well in these last few days, but this is the Capitol. M'shell wants to make herself look good. They brought us here to die. M'shell brought us here to die. Because there's barely a chance that Three will have another victor this year. And she is just

In mere minutes the Avoxes have laid the table with a feast. They must prepare food constantly to have it ready this quickly! Even at other meals we've been called to the table. I thought they would have been preparing on a set schedule, not by our whims. I shake my head in near disbelief but take my seat as nonchalantly as I can manage.

Wyatt scampers to the table and commandeers the seat beside me; M'shell sits next to him and Matilda and Neon take places across from Wyatt and me.

"Wow, this is the biggest meal yet!" Wyatt exclaims as he stares at the heaps of food. I don't let myself stare until I've filled my plate, but before I eat I allow myself to admire the scene. I remember, in the rebellion days my family was on the streets, and hunger always gnawed at my belly. This luxury, this excess, is both beautiful and hideous. They have so much when supper at my house is usually some crusts of bread, a chunk of stringy meat, and some form of dairy or vegetables. At home we drink water. Here there's a whole table devoted to bearing different beverages.

I wish I could just eat this food all day long. If it's my last meal I certainly wouldn't mind. I don't want Capitol food to be my last meal- I don't really want to think about my possible last actions, but my mind, naturally, keeps turning to that train of thought. I have to make an effort to focus on the food and not my fear and cynicism.

My personal favorite is a buttery vegetable soup with swirls of spices through the broth. Wyatt's told me some of the spice names but I didn't care enough to remember them. For being reputed as simple minded, the boy has quite a memory.

I can relate.

"This one right here is really good. It's tasty and the sauce works good with the meat's flavor." I look up from the soup I'm working through just in time to see my district partner gesture at a meat dish. I shrug and put some of it on my plate. I will eat well while I can. Wyatt keeps examining the food, pointing out special fruits and meats and once even commenting on the quality of a piece of beef. Who knew? I'm good at history and sarcasm and the 'idiot of Three' is good with food and being happy. I watch Wyatt as he glances around the room.

Directing his words to an Avox, he speaks kindly, "This food is really good. Thank you."

M'shell just about goes into conniptions right there. "You do not speak to Avoxes, Wyatt! That is out of line!" She then immediately goes back on her words and turns to the Avox, a raven-haired man about twenty-five years old. "You will be punished!"

A flash of fear sparks in the man's eyes, but he lowers his head like he's tiredly accepted his voiceless routine.

"Why are you going to hurt him?" Wyatt protests, "What did he do?"

"Avoxes do not communicate with others," M'Shell sniffs.

"But he didn't talk with me, I talked to him!" Wyatt begins, trying to reason the Avox's sentence into invalidity with M'Shell.

"Of course he didn't, Kipper, Avoxes can't talk!" I snap.

My district partner is hurt by my words, but I don't care. Why get worried about someone who's lost everything already when you could die in a few days? Why bother feeling pity? Why would you care when there are worse things that could happen? Sure, maybe this man doesn't deserve to be punished, but what about us? If we weren't involved in the Games- a terrible situation already- this mute man wouldn't have been here with the threat of punishment. I have enough trouble fighting for myself; the energy it takes to help another would be too much.

"You know what I meant, Spark," Wyatt whispers.

I slam my fork down on my half-empty plate, glaring at M'Shell and the mentors and Wyatt. "Tomorrow's the private sessions and the training scores. We can worry about social protocol later, like after the Games later when we'll be too far gone to care anymore. In fact, we'll be dead."

"Don't say that, Spark!" M'shell gasps, "Either of you could win! Imagine that, two victors in two years!"

"I'm trying, and failing. They don't want two awkward, weak kids to win two years in a row, especially from the same district. I was never a strong person physically, but Neon's victory signed my death warrant."

The girl, younger than me, gives me the fiercest glare I have ever received and flees from the table, presumably running to her room. A year later, the Games are Neon's sore spot. Unsurprising but still interesting. I don't want to end up like that.

"Hey, at least I'll go down fighting!" I shout ruefully after her. With a bitter laugh, I turn back to M'Shell and Wyatt. "Don't try and tell me that I'll win. I'll try to live, I'll fight, but the chances are so slim that I won't go optimistic for this."

A flustered M'Shell pipes up surprisingly quickly after my outburst. "It's not a good idea to disrespect your mentor, Miss Themis."

"What? She's younger than I am. She's got scars on her arms because the Games hurt her so badly. A mentor? She shouldn't be a mentor. She doesn't need this. In fact, what she needs is a therapist."

"You'll need a strategy for these private sessions and the interviews if you want sponsors! Sponsors can really help you, Spark. You too, Wyatt! I'm sure the Capitol could love you both…"

"I can't act, woman. I can't. There goes your precious interview strategies. I tell what I know, I tell what I want to say, and that's it. This is the Spark you'll be stuck presenting!" I fling my arms wide, mocking M'Shell's perfect program, "And that stupid private training session? They expect us to show weapons skills. They hate seeing survival abilities, that's not interesting to this hideous place. I'll wing it. Swing around a quarterstaff, maybe tie some knots. But right now I won't talk strategy with you. I'm going to bed."

I storm off to my room and collapse on the soft coverlet, burying my face in the fabric. All I want to do is cry, but I'm boiling over with rage. There are no tears, there are only screams. So I scream into the pillow, giving noise to my wordless anger until my voice just about gives out.

"Spark?"

"What do you want, Wyatt?" The younger boy stands in the doorway of my room with a deep fear on his face. It's a similar expression to the one of the boy that Xitlally stepped on at the reaping- Newt? A fear of what the storm might hold. Wyatt's nothing more than a scared little boy.

"I think you could win."

"I won't, though."

"You've got more of a chance than me, though." Really? Even this hopeful kid doesn't believe that he could make it?

"Wyatt…"

"I don't want anyone to give up." With that, he turns to leave.

I stand swiftly. "Wait!" My district partner turns around curiously. I step over to him and hug him gently. "You don't give up either, Wyatt Kipper."

"I don't plan to," he whispers. Even if he's thought dumb in Three, he's got sense. And morals, which is more than I can say for some of the competition.

But morals and kindness do not get you out of the arena. Neither do sarcasm or equations.

In the end, Spark Themis and Wyatt Kipper are only scared little kids. We're scared little kids who will die fighting.

Wyatt will die with an ally. And I will die alone.


	25. Don't Trust Me

**A/N- **An update on time :O The author for Lush unfortunately had to leave Fourteen but we have the great Cashmere67 stepping up to take on this chapter so thanks to good ole Teddy ;D

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**Lush Thistle, District Four Female**

**Private Gamemaker Sessions Part One**

_**Written by Cashmere67, Submitted by tr1xx777**_

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_Au bout du fossé, la culbute._

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You're never supposed to underestimate your competition, but under these circumstances, how could you not?

They try to compete with me, but don't they realize that they cannot beat me?

I mean, look at them; they are _nothing_.

Except for me, of course.

And today is the perfect today to manifest my superiority. The tributes show whatever skills they possess or have obtained to the Gamemakers, and the Head Gamemaker is there too. Each tribute has a brief period alone with all of the Gamemakers to show what they have learned during the time in the Training Center. This is the time to go all out and to show everything you're capable of, even if it's not much.

The private sessions are the perfect time to show what skills you have been keeping secret.

The tributes are scored from a scale of one to twelve, with one being very low and twelve being very high. A higher score means that the Gamemakers think that you have a better chance of doing well, or even winning, the Hunger Games.

"These sessions are important because a higher score will mean more sponsors, while a lower score will mean no sponsors," my mentor, Brook, states.

Groaning, Quintus crosses his arms over his chest, "What did you score again?"

Smirking, Brook replies, "Eight."

Quintus raises an eyebrow, "Interesting."

"Do you have any questions, Lush?"

Hearing my name, I glance at Brook, who is tapping her finger repeatedly on the table. She tilts her head, blinking her eyes several times in a row. I smile at her, and the tapping of her finger gets louder and more rapid.

"No," I answer, smiling amiably.

Quintus and I look at each other, transmitting words from just our eye-contact. I can see the look of boredom and discomfort in his eye, and I gesture towards the door leading into the hallway. Quintus stands up straight, stretches his arms and legs, and then walks towards the door. I sluggishly follow him, looking at Brook every so often to make sure that she doesn't really notice that we're leaving.

Quintus opens the door, and then holds out his hand, gesturing for me to go first. I stand in front of him, give him a snarky smile, and then continue walking. Quintus, being the flirtatious boy that he is, pinches my butt as I walk past him and I smack his hand away.

"Grow up," I snap sarcastically, "Cassiterite won't like that."

"We won't have to tell her, will we?" Quintus winks, speaking in a snide tone.

I continue to banter with him, ignoring his comment, "What score are you aiming for?"

"What kind of question is that?" He retorts. "A twelve."

"A twelve?" I question, hoping that he is only kidding. "If you're not, you're going to be let down severely."

Quintus guffaws, "I will be fine with whatever they give me. What are you aiming for, Lush?"

"I will be fine with whatever they give me," I imitate.

"Even a one?" Quintus jeers.

"Even a one," I reply, poking him in the chest.

For the rest of the walk down the hallway it is silent, only with our occasional coughs or glances at each other. Quintus and I approach the elevator, and the elevator doors slide open automatically. Quintus pushes the button that has the word 'Lobby' written on it, and then the elevator doors slide shut automatically. The ride downwards in the elevator is much more quiet than the hallways, and the elevator itself is silent because the elevators here are much more advanced and aren't as rusty and old as the ones back in District Four. The elevator comes to a halt, and then the doors open automatically once again, revealing the lobby and whatever people are in there.

"You first, ma'am," Quintus says, holding out his arm.

"Why, thank you, kind sir," I reply.

In the lobby, all the members of my alliance – which is made up of the two from District One, Allure and Quartz, the two from District Two, Cassiterite and Jem, and the District Eight female, Dakota – are already there. They notice Quintus and me, and Cassiterite gestures for the both of us to come over. Quintus and I join our other allies in a circular formation, and we start having small talk with each other.

Usually, Allure only talks to Quartz and Dakota, Quartz, Jem, and Quintus talk to whomever, Cassiterite and I only talk to each other for the most part, and Dakota only talks to Allure.

This just shows how dysfunctional and disconnected this alliance is.

Cassiterite points at the screen hovering above all of the tributes in the lobby, and all of our attention is drawn to that. On the screen are the odds of each tribute, either humiliating soon or making some feel proud of themselves. These scores are before the private session score, which is much more significant than this, but these odds still say something.

Allure has 7-1, Quartz has 4-1, Cassiterite has 5-1, Jem has 6-1, Quintus has 2-1, and I have 6-1.

For the moment, my odds of winning will suffice, but not for long; I will raise my chances of winning and after my training score, I will prove the odds of 6-1 to be false.

"Not bad," Cassiterite commentates, "Although some of you could have done better."

Allure sighs, "I apologize for my let down. There is no possible way the Careers will get sponsors this year!"

Quartz chuckles, and before Cassiterite can say something back to Allure, he escorts Allure and himself towards the other side of the room. Cassiterite shrugs her shoulders, dismissing Allure and Quartz completely. She leans on Jem's shoulder, who then whispers something into her ear.

The Head Trainer from the Training Center stands in the corner of the room, blowing her whistle. All of the tributes gather around, and whispers and murmurs erupt from the group. The Head Trainer ushers all of the tributes into a line, with the District One female, Allure, at the front of the line, and then the District Twelve male, Loken, at the back of the line.

All of the tributes are in a long rectangular hallway, and there are two big metal doors at the end of the hallway. All of the tributes sit down on a long bench, waiting for their names to be called.

A monotonous robotic voice projects from the speaker above the big metal doors.

"Allure Medina."

Allure stands up from the bench and fixes her training suit. I snort at her prissy attitude, and she gawks at me. I smirk and she quickly loves away. She begins to walk towards the Head Trainer, but her District partner, Quartz, grabs her hand kisses it. Allure smiles sweetly and then pats him on the head.

How cute.

Allure struts gracefully towards the door, glancing back at Quartz over her shoulder after every few steps. The Head Trainer puts their hand on Allure's shoulder, and she giggles quietly. I roll my eyes and slouch back against the wall.

What is she even capable of? Painting nails? Doing hair? Enlighten me, please. I'm speechless.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 1. _

Allure Medina, the District One female. She's a bitch, and all she has is blondeness. She is one of the main discussions in me and Cassiterite's conservations; how naïve she is, how weak she is, how _perfect_ she is. Allure doesn't even have any tenderness, which is ironic because you would think she does by the way she carries herself. She's prissy, possesses a great degree of vanity, and is egoistical. Allure deserves the criticism and hatred she gets. I swear that I will kill her with my own bare hands. I will caress that lovely face of hers, make her beg for mercy, and then tease her. I will rip off her ears, dig out her eyes, and remove that smile of hers. Even her hair will be ripped out of her body. Everything; that girl will be dead if I have anything to do about it. She won't even see it coming; it will be a surprise attack, but once we're in that arena, she's _mine_.

I hope you like that pretty face of yours, Allure, since it will be skinned soon.

A few minutes pass, and the doors automatically open, and Allure stands in the doorway. She skips back over to Quartz, who stands up immediately. Allure jumps into his arms and Quartz spins her around.

Great; another one infected by this girl's plague. Cleanse yourself thoroughly, Quartz, or you might die.

"Quartz Van Puten."

Allure sits down, and Quartz starts walking towards the doors. Without looking back, he enters the doors, and the doors slide shut after he enters. The room where all of the tributes are waiting goes silent, except for Allure. She sits on the bench, swinging her legs back and forth.

Quartz Van Puten, on the other hand, isn't as vile and vexatious as Allure. He's arrogant, but it's not your typical arrogance. Whatever he starts, he finishes. Quartz is determined to win these games, and that's why I cannot like him. He is one of the many people that are in the way of my victory, and all of these obstacles must be killed immediately. I will let him live longer than Allure, that's for sure, but not much longer. If I had to choose, I would let him die a slow, painful death; a spear to the stomach, a knife to the chest, an arrow to the neck, or even poison. Two coffins will be sent back to District One, both with my fingerprints on the bodies.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 7. _

District One is so similar this year; they are arrogant, annoying, and dead to me.

Quartz exits the doorway, and strolls back to the bench next to Allure. He smiles triumphantly and cracks his neck. Quartz wraps his arm around Allure and then they both walk out of the room.

Good, they were cramping my space.

"Cassiterite Vellemptuai."

Cassiterite struts past me, skimming her hand along my knee as she passes. I look upwards, making eye-contact with her for a quick second before she struts through the doorway. I glance over at Jem, who is preoccupied with himself, and then I glance at Quintus, who is looking towards the ceiling with his eyes closed.

Out of all of my allies, Cassiterite is the only one I genuinely trust. Ever since the first day in the Capitol, we had some sort of friendship growing. We made eye-contact for a quick second during the Chariot Rides, and I just knew from then that we would get along. She always talked about Allure, and I chose to dismiss it, but then I began to believe her. It was all true, anyway. Cassiterite and I have jokes about Allure and always tell each other about how we would like to kill her. I still have thoughts about killing her, though, but she was the hardest for me to come up with a way for her to be killed. I decided that I would kill her with my bare hands; strangling, snapped neck, and many other possibilities. Cassiterite promised that she would protect me in the arena, and she seems like the type of girl to keep her promises. And if she doesn't, then I have to take care of her for good.

But I can't think like that. I can't let something so trivial get in the way of my ambitions and goals.

A few minutes later, the doors slide open, and Cassiterite stands in the doorway. She stands there for a second, waiting for all of the tributes' eyes to be directed on her, and then she continues to walk back towards us. Cassiterite walks directly passed all of the tributes, and walks out of the doors that are leading back into the lobby.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 9. _

Jem, her District partner, calls after Cassiterite, but he can't really go anywhere because his name will be called shortly.

"Jem Show."

Jem, compared to everyone else in my alliance, is mediocre. He's physically weak, especially with the problems with his leg and all, and he doesn't seem like the strongest competitor. I do, however, like him as a person. He's funny, sarcastic, and charismatic, which I do like. Unfortunately, I don't trust him or truly care about him. He's just sort of there and more like a background tribute in this alliance. I wouldn't mind killing him, and I would kill him by ripping both of his legs off of his body and then beat him with his own legs.

Jem is just another obstacle in the way of my victory.

After a few minutes, Jem walks out of the doors with a serious expression on his face. He walks passed every tribute without even making eye-contact.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 7. _

Yeah, that's right. Keep on walking, Jem.

"Spark Themis."

The District Three female, Spark, stands up from the bench and saunters through the doors. Spark never really stood out to me, and I don't expect much from her. I would like to kill her by a simple spear to the throat. District Three barely has any victors, except the females that won the Fourth Hunger Games and the Thirteenth Hunger Games, whose names were Matilda and Neon respectively.

I tap my finger against the bench, humming a quiet tune. Waiting for all of these tributes is getting very tedious, and to be honest, boring. The superior tributes should go first, and then the inferior tributes should go last.

After several boring minutes, Spark saunters through the doors once again, and then sits back down on the bench.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 2. _

"Wyatt Kipper."

The District Three male, Wyatt, stands up from the bench and then says something to his District partner, Spark. He walks towards the doors very slowly, and then goes through them. He's just another District Three tribute, and has nothing going for him. For his death, I would like to spear him through the throat as well.

Shame on District Three: Why must they produce such wretched tributes?

After some more boring minutes, Wyatt walks back through the doors and meets up with Spark. Wyatt and Spark both walk out of the hallway, while looking back at the remaining tributes and whispering things to each other.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 2. _

"Lush Thistle."

Once my name is called, I immediately shoot up from the bench and begin to jog towards the doors. The Head Trainer meets me at the doors, and then the doors slide open. I step through them and take a few left and right turns, guiding myself to the room where the Gamemakers are.

I finally arrive at my location, and the first thing I notice is the large balcony hovering over the Training Center. The Head Gamemaker and the other Gamemakers are on it, eating lavishly and conversing loudly. Around the center are several types of weaponry and survival skills stations.

I walk forward, purposely stamping my shoes on the ground to draw attention. All of the Gamemakers notice me, and then their conversations are silenced and all of them give me their attention.

"Lush Thistle, District Four," I state, speaking in a stern tone.

The Head Gamemaker waves their hand, gesturing for me to begin. I only have a few minutes, so I cannot waste this time.

I sprint very quickly towards the knife station, knowing that knives are my specialty. I grab several types of knives; throwing, regular, and a bunch of random ones. I lay them all out on the floor, glancing back at the Gamemakers who are staring at me.

I pick up to throwing knives, raise my arm slightly, and then let them fly. The metal glistens as it sores through the air, eventually landing in the bulls-eye section on the target. I grab two more throwing knives, turn around, and then turn back the other way and throw them immediately. They land right next to my previous knives, which is almost bulls-eye, but not exactly. I grab a larger knife off of the ground, get on the ground and roll towards the dummies, and then begin to slash at each of the dummies. After cutting up several of the dummies, I forcefully stab the knife into the head of the dummy. For my finale, I grab a machete off of the rack and then jog back towards the dummies. The dummies are arranged to surround me, and I crouch down. I begin to lunge forward here and there, slashing at the abdomen and lower-area of the dummies, which would be a severe blow to actual tributes.

I throw the machete down on the ground, and then walk back towards the balcony where all of the Gamemakers are. I smile triumphantly, bow, and then walk out without looking at their facial expressions. I walk much faster out of the Training Center, wanting to get back to the other tributes sooner.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 10. _

I usually plan out how I would kill each tribute, and I can't leave myself out, but I have trouble planning my death. I always asked myself; how would I kill myself? But, that's a silly question, since I don't plan on dying.

I approach the doors, and they slide open automatically. Quintus is standing up at the front of the bench. Once I pass him, he pats me on the shoulder and then says something to me, but I can't figure out what he just said.

"Break a leg," I mumble.

_Literally._

"Quintus Praetorian."

I keep on walking, without looking back at Quintus. I slouch down back against the wall, glancing towards the doors, and I notice that Quintus is already through the doors. I guess he's in a rush to see what the Gamemakers think of him.

Opinions just mean so much to him, don't they? Especially the Gamemakers' opinions.

Quintus is the most interesting ally of mine. He's serious, arrogant, and strong, but there is another side to him; he can be funny, sarcastic, and flirtatious. Quintus is getting on everyone's good side by acting like this, and I admire him for that. He knows how to play the crowd and how to appease people. The death I planned out for him took a while, but I finally came up with the idea that I would decapitate him. Overall, I trust him, but only because we're District partners. We mock each other, poke fun at each other, and laugh at each other, but when it comes down to it, we have each other's backs. Quintus is the leader of the Careers, which I don't really have a problem with. I do have to watch out for Quintus, though, since you never know what he has planned.

This year, Quintus is my only competition.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 11. _

I can hear Quintus' chuckle come from behind the doors. The doors open, and he continues to chuckle. He looks at me, still walking towards the door leading into the lobby, and waves his hand, gesturing for me to come with him. I shake my head and he just smirks and walks out of the doors.

I want to stay here just so I can see more of the tributes.

"Rima Vertes."

The female from District Five, Rima, stands up from the bench and struts over towards the door. Surprisingly, this girl, of all people, has quite the attitude. I never really spoke to her or interacted with her, but she certainly has a mouth on her. It's unfortunate, though, that she will have to die. Such an interesting child, with a personality and appearance to match, has to die for me to win. To kill Rima, I would poison her, ultimately killing her from the inside-out, and because if she was poisoned, she wouldn't be able to talk anymore.

District Five has a reputation for dying, anyway. The only victor that District Five has is the victor of the Second Hunger Games, Kristina. She isn't anything special, anyway, so District Five is still a failure.

After wasting more minutes of my life by waiting here, Rima finally walks out. Rima struts towards the doors leading into the lobby, glaring at each of the tributes as she passes them. Once she passes me, I grunt, and she smiles to herself.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 2. _

"Ryan Jenkins."

The District Five male, Ryan, stands up and walks through the doors quickly. They shut behind him, and I slouch back even lower against the wall.

Ryan, on the other hand, is just plain odd. There's definitely something wrong with him, and I really don't know what it is. He's just so interesting and unique, but in the bad way. I watched his reaping and I have watched him throughout the Capitol, and he is definitely someone that stood out to me. Just from watching him, and not actually speaking to him, I don't like him at all. He isn't stable and he will probably be that one tribute to go crazy in the arena. If he survives, that is, because I wouldn't mind killing him in the arena. I was debating whether to kill him in my mind brutally or quickly, but then I came up with the idea of shooting an arrow into his head.

After several minutes, Ryan walks back into the hallway through the doors. He walks directly through the doors on the opposite side of the hallway, murmuring something to himself.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 3._

"Greylyn Conway."

The female from District Six, Greylyn, hesitantly stands up from the bench. She walks very slowly towards the doors and eventually makes her way through the doors.

Greylyn is a spoiled child, and that is it. She's weak, annoying, and I can just tell that she will be one of the first deaths of the games. I almost pity her family; such a small child will be returned to them in a coffin. I wonder what they'll do with it because if I received a coffin with her in it, I would roll it down the closest hill. Greylyn is just too sweet, and in the Hunger Games, that won't get you anywhere. Sweetness and generosity will only get you a spear in your body, and that's exactly how I would kill her.

After imagining Greylyn's death for several minutes, she finally walks back out into the hallway. She walks towards the doors on the opposite side of the hallway, smiling at every tribute she passes. I stare directly into her eyes, not looking away until she looks away from me.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 2._

"Phoenix Whitter."

Phoenix is just another tribute that is in the way of my victory. He does nothing for District Six, except making them look weaker and more pitiful than they already are. I never paid attention to him throughout the Capitol because I have no reason to. He will die early on in the games, maybe not by my hands specifically, but he will. If I had the chance to kill him, I would throw several knives at him that would land randomly on his body and ultimately kill him.

I nearly fall asleep, but I am awakened by the sound of the doors sliding open again. Phoenix steps through the doorway, looks at all of the tributes in the hallway, and then walks towards the doors leading into the lobby. He walks through the doors and from where I am sitting on the bench I can see him meet up with Greylyn in the lobby.

_Lush Thistle's prediction: 3._

Out of all the tributes that have gone into their private sessions already – which includes Allure, Quartz, Cassiterite, Jem, Spark, Wyatt, Quintus, Rima, Ryan, Greylyn, Phoenix, and me – I can safely say that I barely have any competition.

Why does this even have to be a competition? Can't the Capitol just line up twenty-four teenager and kill them publicly?

It's simple: The Hunger Games are used for entertainment for the Capitol, and resentment for the Districts.

The Capitol wants a show, thus they created the Hunger Games. The games are a slaughter-house, which is exactly what the Capitol wants. But the only thing I don't understand is why the Capitol lets in weak and wretched tributes into the.

If they want a good show, the strong and superior teenagers from each District should go into arena, not weaklings. While these weaklings hope and dream for success, the suitable competitors are working hard to achieve success.

After my victory, I want to be able to say: I gave it all I could, I gave it my best, and that it all paid off.


	26. The Knife's Edge

**A/N-** Not much to say, just thanks for reading and hope you enjoy this next chapter!

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**Loken Farris, District Twelve Male**

**Private Gamemaker Sessions Part Two**

_**shadesunrider13**_

* * *

When your family makes a living killing animals and cutting them up into smaller, more workable pieces, you learn more than you'd like about your victims. One cow might have a slightly crippled leg, probably the reason it's standing in my backyard ready for the knife. A horse might have a flower tied into its mane, put there by some kid who didn't want their animal to leave. Pigs are always fat - we wouldn't buy them if they weren't - but some are clean when we get them, and I always wonder who took the time to bathe an animal that's going to die soon anyway. Anyway, there's one thing all the animals have in common when my father leads them toward me; none of them have a clue what's about to happen to them.

I'm almost to the point where I want that to be the way things are for me. Almost, but not quite.

I'm up early for breakfast on the day of the private sessions, picking through the food. Unlike some of the other tributes, who I've noticed cramming down food so fast that they barely have time to chew it, I eat slowly, carefully. Understanding hunger can be both a positive and a negative in the Games; if you know hunger, you're better able to function on small amounts of food, but you're also more likely to stuff down whatever food you get without thinking about where your next meal is coming from. I couldn't decide whether I should pack on extra weight or try to practice going hungry, so I just ended up eating like I always have.

Sparrow comes in, surveying both me and the food with the 'is that the best you can do?' look she's adopted for the entirety of our stay in the Capitol. "Private sessions today," she remarks.

"I know." I take a sip of hot chocolate and feel it burn my tongue. I've spent several days trying to convince her that I'm not very bright, and now, it's about to pay off. "What are you doing for yours?"

She snorts at me. "You think I'm going to tell you that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" The best approach with Sparrow, as I've found out, is to go for the unexpected questions, the ones that are hanging in the air that nobody dares ask. "I mean, I'll find it out soon enough, won't I?"

"Yeah. You will."

"Training sessions are over," I say. "If you have some amazing skill, it's not like there's going to be much I can do to counter it at this point."

Sparrow's expression shifts a little, and I can tell I'm making an impression. "That's true," she admits.

"And, you know…" I play this part for all I'm worth, glancing down at the table, at the walls, at the carpet, anywhere but at her face. Act stupid. Only an idiot would try this with someone who doesn't like them. "I was thinking maybe we could be allies."

Sparrow looks at me. She spent time in a community home - she's not naïve - but she probably won't expect deceit out of a merchant kid. One thing I've learned from Malak is that miners think that merchant kids are all the same; chubby, rich, and dumb as rocks. She always said that it was funny that she was best friends with the one merchant kid who was none of those things. "What's so special about you?"

I hesitate, as though I'm mulling over whether or not to tell her. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Who am I going to tell?" Sparrow laughs quietly. "Go for it, Farris. Let's hear your secret."

"You know the raids back home, where people throw rocks and paint bombs at the Peacekeepers?" I wait until she nods, then continue, "I'm the one who plans them. Me and a couple other kids. We did it for three years and we never got caught."

"Did you ever think that that's why you got reaped?" Sparrow says, raising her eyebrows. "That they knew it was you the whole time and were just waiting for the right moment to get you?"

Actually, I have thought about that. I didn't sleep at all that first night on the train, wondering if my nighttime attacks on the Peacekeepers were the reason I was going into the Games to die. Then it occurred to me that if the Capitol wanted to punish me for the raids, there were far more effective ways to do it. The Peacekeepers could have dragged me into the square, announced my crime to the entire district, beaten me, and shot me to death. They could have left my body to rot as a warning for anyone who crosses them, just like they did with the rebels from ten years ago. That would make sense as a punishment. Reaping me doesn't, because no one back home knows what I did and, of course, there's that one-in-twenty-four chance that I might make it out of the arena. In my opinion, my reaping was just bad luck.

Instead of pointing this out, I bite my lip and glance at Sparrow. "Maybe they did. But the Peacekeepers never caught me. They're supposed to be specially trained and everything, and if they can't catch me, what makes you think the Careers can?"

Sparrow crosses her arms, keeping her face fairly blank, but I can tell she's thinking about it. "But why me?"

"Because I know you, at least a little," I say. "Look, I'm not stupid." The expression on her face tells me that she thinks otherwise, but I forge on anyway. "I know I'm not going to make it very long on my own, and I'd rather be allies with you than with any of them."

I've learned just enough about the others, from their reapings and their behavior in the training sessions, to guess what they'll do in the Games. There are at least a few who'd rather run than fight. There are others who will fight, but probably end up dying in the process because they've misjudged their own strength or hesitated at a crucial moment. Then there are people who have both the willingness and the ability to kill, and I'd bet my jabberjay whistle that Sparrow is one of them. The community home screws people up. We've all seen it. And that, coupled with the bird-stabbing incident Malak told me about and the fact that she knows me even a little, is enough to make me think that she'll kill me if I don't neutralize her somehow.

I'd rather not kill her. If I make it home, it'll be bad enough without having to justify killing my own district partner. But I can't count on someone else to kill her, either. The best solution is to keep her close and see what comes up.

"And honestly," I continue, "who would you rather ally with? The Careers won't take you, and everything else will be decided in the Games. I feel like we should stick together."

Sparrow looks at me, and even underneath my idiot façade, I squirm a little. "If you're the one who runs the raids, you know Malak Johnson, don't you?"

Everyone in the Seam knows that Malak and her older brother are part of the raids. Some people even think that she's the one who plans them. But the Seam is tight-knit, not like the merchant community, and information like Malak's involvement in the raids would never reach the Peacekeepers. "Yeah, I know her."

"She's smart," Sparrow says after a minute. "She wouldn't hang around with you if you were useless."

I sense victory. "So we'll be allies, then?"

"Let's see how the training scores come back," Sparrow says. "But I'm thinking about it."

I give her a grateful smile. "Thanks. That's all I'm asking for."

Azima, our Capitol-assigned mentor, comes into the room, brushing her hair out of her face, and both Sparrow and I flinch. Azima is ex-something, no one's sure what, and she can move so silently that you'd never see her coming. All in all, she's not a bad mentor - in fact, I'd say she's a damn sight better than some of the real victors - but she scares the hell out of us.

"So," she says flatly, looking us over, "are you two ready?"

Sparrow nods. After a second, I do, too. "Any advice?"

Azima points at me. "You. Out. I'll talk to Sparrow first."

I leave, making sure to give Sparrow an encouraging smile, which she doesn't return. They're in there for maybe ten minutes. Then Sparrow comes out and says, "Go in. And watch your back."

That doesn't sound promising. I go into the room and look around; Azima is nowhere to be seen. "Azima, what's -"

And then the lights go out.

I stand frozen for a second, shocked, but then I drop to the floor and crawl as quietly as I can across the carpet, looking for some sort of landmark; a wall, a couch, a coffee table. When Sparrow said "watch your back", she must have meant it literally. Is this Azima's idea of preparing me for the arena?

I throw out a hand and come into contact with what I think is the edge of a couch. I feel around, trying to figure out my position in relation to it, and finally decide to lean my back up against it. That way Azima can't get me from behind, but really, in this darkness, she could be right in front of me and I wouldn't know. My heart is pounding. I can feel it in all sorts of weird places; the back of my neck, behind my eyes, at the base of my skull.

Despite the fact that I know I'm still in the dining room, I feel panic creeping up on me. Something is out there, something with the power to kill me, and I can't even see it.

_Think_, I imagine Malak snapping at me. She was never afraid of the dark, and during the winter power outages, we always counted on her to keep us calm. _What is the difference between you and her right now? What are her advantages and what are yours?_

She's trained. I'm not. She's in control of the situation - she shut off the lights, after all - and I'm hiding like a cornered rat behind a couch. I'm blind in here. And then it occurs to me; she is, too. For all of her training, Azima can't see in the dark any more than I can. I need to disorient her. I reach up onto the couch, pull off a rather aptly named throw pillow, and toss it into the darkness, hoping it'll hit something that will make noise.

There's a loud thump from somewhere in the darkness and I curl down, listening for any movement Azima might make. I hear the whisper of fabric brushing against a couch and a shape stirs in the darkness a few feet from me. She's closer than I thought she'd be, and she's going to investigate the noise. Okay. Decision time. Do I take her down, or try to escape? If I can surprise her, I might be able to overpower her, but she's trained. I'd have to kill her in one blow, and without a knife or even a slingshot, I can't do that. This is still her game; somehow, I have to make it my game. I crawl around the edge of the couch, away from where I think Azima is, looking for the wall.

I reach it, stand up, and start feeling my way along the wall. Where is the stupid light switch? My searching fingers knock a picture off the wall, and the resulting crash provokes movement from behind me. I move faster. And then I get it. I flip on the light and whip around, finding Azima three feet away from me, hands on the wall and facing the wrong way.

"I'm over here." It comes out more defiant than I thought it would. Azima turns slowly to face me, a slight smile on her thin lips.

"Do you feel in control, Loken?" she says quietly, moving to sit down on one of the couches. "Be honest. I can't help you if you lie."

"No," I say. "I don't feel like I'm in control. I outmaneuvered you, but I didn't have a weapon or any way to kill you. All I did was buy myself time."

"You could have choked me," Azima says conversationally.

"I don't know how. Besides, you're probably a former Peacekeeper or something, and you could knock me flat on my back."

Azima laughs. "Remind me, Loken, to show you how to choke someone later. For someone your size, it could come in handy." She brushes her hair out of her eyes again. "So. To business. Sit down."

I sit nervously on the other end of the couch. My heart is still racing. "Yeah?"

"Pay attention to this, Loken: A tribute who believes that he is in control is a tribute who will never see his family or his pretty little girlfriend again."

I try not to flinch at the last one. She can't possibly know about Malak. I've got to hope that she says that to all the tributes she mentors.

"A tribute who believes that he is in control," Azima continues, "will die because no one, no matter how intelligent they are, no matter how quickly they can think on their feet, can control every factor that comes into play in the Games. There is the arena itself. There are the traps of the Gamemakers. There are your fellow tributes. But none of those, Loken, will be as deadly to you as your own hubris."

"My what?" I say.

"Your pride. Your belief in your own abilities. Call it what you will." Azima waves her hand dismissively. "I've seen others like you. Boys, mostly, but the occasional girl. Intelligent, quick-thinking. And they've died, every last one of them, because they thought they could master the Games. No one masters the Games."

"I get it," I say. "So be honest with me, Azima. Do I have a chance?"

"Everyone has a chance, Loken," Azima says, and she laughs again. "But yes, I believe you do. I've tested every tribute I've mentored the same way I just tested you and Sparrow, and you had one of the more, shall we say, interesting reactions. What can you tell me about the boy from District One?"

"Quartz Van Puten. Volunteer," I say quickly. "Don't know his age off the top of my head, but he's older than sixteen. Thinks a lot of himself, and has the skills to back it up."

"What would you do if you met him in the arena?"

"I'd run like hell," I say promptly. Azima rolls her eyes.

"I've no doubt you would. But assume that you had some distance from him. Would that change your response?"

"Maybe a little," I say slowly, thinking it over. "Do I have cover?"

"Some."

"I'd slingshot something at him," I say. "See if I could hit him in the head. Even if it didn't kill him, it would stun him a bit, and then maybe I could kill him. If he'd already seen me, I could stun him and run for it. It depends. But Azima, seriously, what does this have to do with my private training session?"

Azima sighs. "The training scores, as I'm sure you've noticed, are formulaic. The tributes from One, Two, and Four generally receive high scores, while everyone else falls in the low to mid-range. And I'm sure you've noticed that it is often not an accurate predicator of how a tribute will fare in the arena."

"Yeah, tell me about it," I mumble.

"Bear that in mind in your session," Azima tells me. "You are one of the oldest tributes this year, and you are not small enough to be written off. If you receive a score higher than a six, you will be targeted. Decide for yourself if impressing the Gamemakers is worth drawing the Careers down on you."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. "Are you telling me to throw my session?"

Azima ignores this. "Remember how you felt when I turned the lights off? The Games will be similar. If you can keep your head, you have a chance at survival. For you, Loken, the Games start now."

Someone knocks on the door. "What is it?" Azima says.

An Avox opens the door, holding out a note. Azima takes it, reads it, and says to the Avox, "He'll be there shortly."

"What is it?" I ask.

"Apparently you're late." Azima follows me to the elevators. "Good luck."

"Thanks," I say, but she's walking away before the doors even shut completely.

I spend the ride down thinking about what she said. Targeted. I could be targeted. When I've thought of being killed in the Games, I've always thought of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It never occurred to me that the Careers, or any other tributes, might purposely seek me out. Target. The word fills my mind, and all I can think of as the elevator doors open onto the lobby is that I won't be a target. I'll do anything I have to in order to make them believe I'm not a threat.

Then there's my possible alliance with Sparrow. She told me it depended on my training score, which I'm guessing would have to be a seven or so to sufficiently impress her. But if Azima's right, and let's face it, she knows more about the Games than I ever will, a score above six will paint a bull's-eye on my back. Which is more valuable to me? An alliance with Sparrow or the ability to fly under the radar of the Careers?

When I reach the lobby myself and Sparrow sit there in silence, the other tributes begin to disappear into the training rooms. Sometimes it's fifteen or even twenty minutes before they call down the next tribute; other times, it's five minutes or less. I can't tell if a short session is good or bad, whether a long session means you have a lot of skills to show off or just that you're desperate to impress the Gamemakers. Finally, it's just me and Sparrow in the lobby, and six minutes after they call the girl from District Eleven down, it's my turn.

I pause by the doors for a second, and glance one time back at Sparrow. Am I so terrified of her that I'll do well to keep her close? Is she really more dangerous than the Careers? The Peacekeeper gives me a light shove in the back - _get moving _- and I open the door. As I step inside, I still have no idea what I'm about to do, only that whatever it is has to take less than ten minutes. I don't want to be one of the desperate ones.

The gym is a mess. There are weapons scattered everywhere, probably from the Careers, and the edible plants station has been ransacked. As I walk to the center of the gym, avoiding a coil of rope still twisted into a snare, I spot a throwing axe embedded in the ceiling. How on earth did that happen?

The Gamemakers look bored, but most of them are still watching me, and that's all I need. I'm not sure how they decide training scores, but it should be fine as long as at least a few of them are paying attention to me. "State your name and district," one says.

You're kidding me, right? For all the obsession the Capitol has over the Games, you'd think they'd at least know their tributes' names. I step forward and clear my throat. "Loken Farris. District Twelve."

The Gamemaker who spoke waves a hand at me. "Go ahead."

I walk to the slingshots, which are, not surprisingly, untouched. There are different types of ammunition; rocks, paint bombs, and some little silver spheres. I pick up one of the spheres and press a button on the side, watching dispassionately as it grows spikes. I gather a few of each type, pick up the slingshot that looks the most like mine back home, and go to the center of the gym.

I sling a paint bomb at one of the mannequins that they use for sword practice, hitting it in the chest. A satisfying red splash appears. It's a solid hit, but I keep my face blank. No need to let the Gamemakers know that I was aiming for the head. I turn to the targets. I send rocks and spiky spheres pinging off the centers until I run out of ammunition, and then I glance at the clock. Five minutes. Well under the desperate mark. I still have some time. I pick up a couple weights and toss them. Dragging carcasses around has given me some muscle; not a lot, but some, and it could be useful in a fight. Once I've thrown everything I can lift, I glance at the clock again and sneak a look at the Gamemakers while I'm at it. They're still watching. And inevitably, my eyes turn to the knives.

I grew up playing with knives. I use them every day at my parents' shop. And despite my accuracy with the slingshot, I know I haven't impressed the Gamemakers very much. A slingshot is a child's weapon. No one thinks of it as being able to kill. But knives…if I used them, I'd get the Gamemakers' attention for sure.

Or would I? The Gamemakers have been watching Careers sling knives around all day. It's unlikely that they'd be impressed with me. But I know that you don't need a bunch of fancy tricks to be able to slit a throat. And if I use the knives, I will earn a higher score and make myself a target. I haven't embarrassed myself today. I'll earn a four or a five, not rock-bottom but not good enough to look like a contender, and I'll fade into the background just like the other low-scoring tributes. Let everyone else distinguish themselves. I'm hanging back. I won't get myself killed for pride. I have too much waiting for me back in District Twelve.

I turn away from the knives, thank the Gamemakers for their consideration, and walk away, riding up the elevators alone to the twelfth floor. Azima is waiting for me outside the doors.

"How did you do?" she asks.

"Let's put it this way," I say, walking into the dining room, "the Careers may be chasing someone, but it sure won't be me."

"Good," Azima says, and she walks away. When I'm sure she's gone, I pick a knife off of one of the place settings and flip it around in my hand; then I throw it hard and watch it splinter the paneled wooden walls.


	27. Mission Impossible

**A/N- **Hey guys, sorry for not updating yesterday. There was no hold up in chapters I just completely forgot to update :/ Oops... but anyway enjoy! XD

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**Jem Show, District Two Male**

**Training Scores**

_**nightfuries**_

* * *

I've never been nervous. I don't really _do_ nervous. Nervous is a feeling you get when you know something good has to come of an action you're not entirely confident in. I've always had faith that my mental capabilities would be able to get me through anything, and what they couldn't do, didn't matter.

At least until now.

"They must be done, right?" My fingers are still flying across the surface of a paper napkin as I look over at Cassie. As we were some of the first tributes to perform for the Gamemakers, we came up to our floor for lunch afterwards and haven't really moved since. I mean, it's not like there're many places for us to _go_. We're not allowed to leave the building and other people really don't appreciate it when you try and sneak onto their floor. Trust me, I've tried both.

"Probably," Cassie says, her calm demeanour the complete opposite of my anxious self. A fact she seems to recognise as she turns to me. "You all right?"

I rip a long tear in the napkin, cutting it in two. "What?" _Riiiiip._ "Yeah." _Riiiiip. _"Of course." _Riiiiiip._ "Why?"

_Riiiiiip._

"Nothing," she says, shrugging. "I've just never seen you fidgety before."

"Fidgety? Ha, I am _not_ fidgety. Fidgeting is a random action one does when one is feeling nervous. I am _not _nervous. Why would I be? And anything I do is always planned and always has a purpose. Fidgeting isn't even in my vocabulary."

She raises an eyebrow. "So what's the plan and purpose for that?"

I follow her gaze down to the tablecloth in front of me, upon which now sits a pile of very small pieces of a once whole napkin. I guess my nerves really are starting to get to me; not that I'd let that show, of course. "Dramatic exit material," I say, without missing a beat. And scooping the mound of paper into my hand, I toss it into the air before running for the door.

"Nice," Cassie says behind me, and I turn to see her watching me through the veil of falling papers, trying to stifle a laugh. "Napkin confetti."

"Well, I don't always have smoke bombs on hand," I say, grinning, and I catch a glimpse of her own smiling growing before I leave the room.

Once in the hall, though, some of my good mood washes off and I'm left anxiously running a hand through my hair. Over the course of this week I've found Cassie to be a very serious Career when she wants to be, yet in a strange contradiction of the title she's also found it in her to a) have fun and b) actually like me. Of course she'd be able to laugh and let loose today; I've seen her in training, she's guaranteed an eight, at least.

I, on the other hand, am not so lucky.

Though intelligence can often be the deciding factor when the Games are won, demonstrating this skill for a private training session can be rather difficult. Especially when lumped between an enormous District 1 male and my trained district partner in terms of session times. We Careers are the entertainment part of the Gamemakers' afternoon, the kids who know what they're doing as opposed to those who go in and make it up as it happens. They're looking for action, skilled weapons' use, impossible feats of physical abilities. Not exactly something I'm capable of.

Wait . . . did I just say "we Careers"? Wow. Honestly never thought I'd utter those words.

It's been nothing but surprises with my allies since the day I volunteered, the biggest surprise of all being the fact that I actually _have_ allies. When I first got on that train with Cassie, I was expecting, well, pretty much a female version of Kor. What I got couldn't have been farther from that prediction. For all of them.

They're not all jerks. They're not all bloodthirsty and only in this for the fun of killing others. And most – _most_ – are actually pretty intelligent. Which unfortunately makes me stand out even less.

Even though, surprise surprise, I was actually allowed into the alliance, I know I'm the underdog here. Irritating though it is, considering one of our members is the girl from 8. I mean, come on, 8! Sure, she'll be a _great_ help; if one of us is stabbed in the back, she can help mend the tear in the shirt and recommend the best way to clean out the bloodstains. But no, she can get by because she's not from a Career district; she isn't expected to be like us. Or rather, like them. Because even though I'm in the alliance, I'm in no way any closer to being your typical Career than I was six days ago when I volunteered.

Which is a problem. As bad as I was in training, getting a good score for my private session would guarantee me at least some degree of respect. A bad score . . . not so much. I can just picture Quintus' face when he watches the numbers flashing across the screen, hear his laughter and comments. And worse are the comments and insults of Kor, surely watching with baited breath at home just waiting for me to screw up. He may not be here with me now (thank goodness for that), but I can still feel his obnoxious presence with me, hatred intensified thanks to my little stunt on reaping day.

Argh, I just wish there was something I could do about this! I run a hand through my hair again and sigh. Like I said, I'm never nervous, but on the occasion where I get a _tiny_ bit anxious, I've always been able to take action. Like Kor wanting revenge for something I did; if I wasn't sure what he was going to do, I could spy on him, figure it out, devise counterplots, et cetera. But here I can do nothing, _nothing_ about the Gamemakers and my score, and I'm forced to stay on my floor, powerless to change their decision as they mark me with what I'm sure will be the lowest store in the Careers. Why I can't do anything to change this?

Or . . . can I?

"Oh, Jem," I say to myself, a slow grin spreading across my face as an idea begins to form in my head. "One of these days, you're going to get yourself in so much trouble."

* * *

You know, I've started to notice a pattern with my schemes; they all seem to lead me through rather unappealing locations. Don't know what that says about me, but I can tell you for certain that the Training Centre air ducts are _much_ preferable to the District 2 sewers.

And what, exactly, am I doing in the Training Centre air ducts? Well, isn't _that_ an interesting story.

Along with getting nervous, sitting around is something I never do. My parents trained it out of me and my siblings a long time ago; if you're sitting around, you're waiting and if you're waiting, you're relying on someone else to do something for you. Not sure if you noticed earlier, but my family's pretty big on the whole independence thing. "You control the results", my parents would say. "You must take matters into your own hands."

Which is exactly why I'm going to sneak into the gym where the private training sessions take place, access the Gamemakers' records of each tribute's score and change my own as I see fit.

Sound ridiculous? Funny, most of my plans start out that way. Once they're pulled off though, I tend to be the last one laughing.

The door to the gym was, obviously, locked when I got down to the training floor. But I knew the Gamemakers would be inside, going over each tribute's performance and rating them. Unless they went to a different room for their discussion; which I was really hoping they wouldn't.

Luckily, the maintenance room on this floor had _not_ been locked, and slipping inside was almost too easy. I guess they assumed no tribute would ever want to bother themselves with a room devoted to the upkeep of the building, but if so, then they never met Jem Show. I have a habit of sneaking around places most people overlook.

The hardest part was climbing into the duct once I'd opened the grate. Jumping _down_ into a sewer is one thing; climbing _up_ into an air duct is quite another. There was a scary moment where I'd made it through, but the foot of my prosthetic leg caught on the opening and the whole thing was ready to fall off. Luckily I managed to wriggle it around and get it through safe and intact.

And now that I'm actually crawling around in these things, taking turns according to the mental map I've made in my head of the area, I'm almost put off by how easy this is. I guess, just like the lack of locks on the sewers back home, they never assumed someone would be smart enough to do this. Or stupid enough. But I prefer to think of it as the former.

". . . climbing skills were rather impressive . . ."

I freeze as the voice hits my ears, sounding odd and distorted when bouncing around the small confines of the air duct. But still, there's no mistaking its presence and I speed up in anticipation, though stop quickly after to try and stay quiet. Prosthetics are not made for crawling, and while mine bends at the knee like a normal leg, it does not, unfortunately, do the same at the ankle, which creates a fair amount of clanking and dragging noises in the vent.

Thankfully, though, the speaker continues on without interruption, leading me to believe I haven't been heard. Smiling to myself, I continue to inch along the duct until the voices become clearer and I can make out whole conversations.

"She demonstrated decent skills with a knife as well," a female voice adds. "Especially for someone in District 11."

"Yes, but we don't go giving out charity points just because someone had the misfortune to be born in a district like 11, now do we?" an older, male voice drawls.

"But she could climb!" Once again, the first voice I heard reaches my ears, and now I can clearer make it out as a younger male, though the voice is so high-pitched it's hard to tell.

"Hironius, shut up. Just because you're afraid of heights doesn't mean every tribute who can climb two feet off the ground deserves a ten."

"I'm not afraid of heights! I'm allergic to them."

"You idiot, you can't-"

"Enough." The new voice doesn't rise above normal volume at all, yet it seems to have a certain assertive quality to it that makes each Gamemaker fall silent. And though I can't see the speaker, I know her type well. Quite a few of my teachers had the power to make whole classrooms fall silent, though there was always at least one kid who never listened. Three guesses who it was. "Her knife skills were mediocre at best and as Anthaenin said, we do not give points depending on districts."

"But what about-"

"Her agility was entirely average. Now interrupt me again, Hironius, and I promise this time I _will _fire you."

The mutterings that follow presumably come from this "Hironius" character, though I can't make out what he's saying. Probably something unimportant anyways; what I'm here for is the scores. "And now that that's settled," the woman continues. "Four."

"But her district . . ."

"Don't you think . . .?"

"Climbing . . ."

"My decision is final," the scorer finishes, silencing the cacophony that arose when she announced the number. "Now please, let's try to finish this _without_ any more arguments. It's already taken twice as long as it should have, we still have some last-minute arena plans to discuss and some of us would like to get home _before_ midnight."

"Amen to that."

"Quiet, Anthaenin. You haven't been helping either."

"Oh please, at least I'm not as bad as-"

"The boy from 12!" the woman, who've I've begun to think of as the Head Gamemaker – seems to be the one in charge – loudly overrules Anthaenin and continues. "Score?"

"Four!"

"Seven!"

"Two!"

"Two?!" Hironius says indignantly. "But he used a slingshot with excellent accuracy!"

"Yes, but he also nearly dropped a weight on his foot," Anthaenin drawls. "You honestly think that merits a _seven_?"

"I agree with Hironius," a female voice adds, the same one who praised the girl from 11's skills with a knife. "Besides, that was only once. Otherwise, he proved to be rather powerful."

"Maybe, but-"

"Five." The Head Gamemaker's voice rings through the area, silencing the others. Immediately after, however, the same clamour as before follows, but this time she'd quicker to cut it off. "Five."

"But-"

"_No_. I'm utterly sick of these arguments. All day, none of you have been able to agree on _anything_. The boy from 10, the girl from 8, the boy from 2 . . ."

Ah, so I made the list, did I? Not entirely sure what that means in terms of my score, but hey, at least they remember me.

"So five," the Head Gamemaker finishes. "And a seven for his partner."

Immediately the arguments sprout up, the most audible of which comes from the Anthaenin fellow. "Seven, Illieth? You're going soft."

"I'll have no arguments. We're done."

"Maybe you didn't get the message since you weren't even a Gamemaker last year, but we do _vote _on this sort of thing. As much as you want it, you don't hold all the power."

"I'm just trying to finish this, Anthaenin," Illieth replies coldly. "Yes, maybe I don't know how things have worked before, but as I'm sure you know, there must be a reason Austyre no longer holds this position. If you all sat around arguing about tedious things like training scores, no wonder nothing got done. We still have plans to discuss after this and just once I'd like to get home before midnight. Some of us do have families you know; not everyone has no life outside of this job."

For once, my ears pick up only silence after this statement, though it's quickly disrupted by a quiet "ooooh", which I believe comes from Hironius. Anthaenin himself doesn't say anything, but I do pick up on a brief screeching noise, like a chair being pushed back from the table. Then, "Well, I think it's just about time for a coffee break, don't you?"

There's a sigh from Illieth. "Yes. Everyone, head on out. We'll regroup in ten minutes."

More screeching of chairs follows this statement as presumably the Gamemakers get up to leave. I can just hear snatches of conversation, but for the most part it doesn't seem to be anything relevant to the training scores anymore, so I really don't care. But as the other voices fade away, probably due to the speakers exiting the room, I do pick up on one last little chat.

"Anthaenin . . . I apologise. For before. It's a stressful time."

"At least when you're not equipped to deal with it. I still question why the president made you Head Gamemaker when you've never even worked in the field at all."

Not exactly the nicest words, but there's something in his tone that makes them seem not really the insult they're meant to be. The Head Gamemaker must have picked up on it too, because she follows with, "So, all is forgiven?"

"Well, I believe you still owe me a coffee . . ."

"Done."

And then they're gone.

The silence is so out of place that for a moment I just lie in the air duct, feeling the sounds of the door closing reverberating around inside my skull. Then it hits me. They're gone. They're _gone_. It's time to act.

Not burdened anymore with the worry of being overheard, I manage to make my way a lot faster through the duct, and in a few moments I'm right outside the grate to the training room. A quick peek through the thin metal bars tells me what I already suspected. The Gamemakers have really cleared out of the room, leaving me ten minutes to get in, change my score and get out without anyone noticing.

Piece of cake.

The grate is surprisingly easy to detach, though drawing it back into the duct is rather awkward. Eventually though, I get it in a satisfactory position where it won't fall and make a racket, leaving me to the next obstacle in my path; namely, the drop from air duct to floor.

I lay thinking this problem through for a little while, but it's clear there's no easy way to do this. The duct's too narrow to turn around in, and it's not like there's a convenient wall or ceiling fixture nearby that I could grab onto and use to lower myself to the ground. Nope, seems like the only way is sliding out of the duct headfirst . . . and hoping I don't break my neck in the progress. Yeah, first tribute to die before the Games begin; not exactly how I want to be remembered.

My hands grip either sides of the duct opening as I take a deep breath to prepare myself for the pain I know will come. While my mind is beautiful to behold and my wits are unrivalled, I hold all the gracefulness of a one-legged bear.

Still, no pain, no gain, right? Wrong; I hate that saying. Mostly because it seems to be my family's motto for life. Though I guess sometimes, even my family is worth listening to.

Oh God, what have these Capitol people done to my sanity?

However, before I can attempt to answer the question, my body acts and without thinking, my arms pull forward and yank me out of the hole. I guess subconsciously I figured there was no way I'd jump out of the duct while thinking about it. With good reason, I decide, as my forearms are the first thing to hit the ground.

"Ah!" Spikes of pain shoot through my hands, racing straight past my elbows and into my shoulders. Not a moment later do I feel the impact in my midsection, and my breath is knocked out of me just in time for the agony to hit my knees. If I had enough air in my lungs, I'd groan in pain, but for a few seconds all I can do is just lie on the floor, gasping and trying to think about anything but my throbbing shoulder.

But not for long. Yes, I hate the "no pain no gain" saying and firmly believe much can be achieved _without_ injuring oneself in the progress, but if I actually had to go through pain, I'd better get some freaking good gain. Still wincing, I manage to stretch out an arm and grab a nearby chair, slowly pulling myself up off the ground. Well, my shoulder is killing me, my forearms feel like they were hit by a truck and the size of the bruise on my stomach is closely reminiscent to that of a giant boulder, but at least only one of my legs hurt. Oh wait . . .

Shaking my head slightly, I finish resuming a standing position and almost immediately regret it. I didn't realise how long I'd spent in the duct, but my muscle (or what passes for them on me) are _really _feeling it now. Man, is this how all the normal Careers go about their day, thinking they have to put themselves through pain and torture like this in order to gain something? I know that's my brother's mindset; I'm surprised he hasn't killed himself yet. And also a tad disappointed.

But the moment my eyes register the object in front of me, I nearly (_nearly_) forget about the pain. Because sitting on the table, so, so easily accessible, is a silver, shiny laptop. It's not even password protected.

"_Yes_!" I part whisper, part yell to myself, taking a seat in front of the device and ignoring the cramps that come with the motion. We don't actually _own _a computer in my house; we may be well-off, but we're not Capitol citizens, for goodness sake. Still, I know what one is and the basics of using it; in school we have a whole subject devoted to learning about the Hunger Games, and I was always the one asking questions about the technology used to make the event possible. And all my other classmates just wanted to watch reruns of the goriest deaths. Psh, idiots.

My fingers are almost shaking with anticipation as I lay them over the mouse, shifting it to the left ever so slightly to bring the computer out of sleep mode. The randomly undulating waves of colour disappear instantly, leaving me with one of the most important, supposedly not-to-be-revealed-until-tonight documents in the whole Games.

**Private Training Scores**

**Head Gamemaker: Illieth Wornwurther**

**Scores documented by: Hironius Fyntyn**

_District 1 Male: Quartz Van Puten_ **9**

_District 1 Female: Allure Medina_ **8**

_District 2 Male: Jem Show_ **6**

_District 2 Female: Cassiterite Vellemptuai _**8**

_District 3 Male: Wyatt Kipper _**5**

_District 3 Female: Spark Themis _**6**

_District 4 Male: Quintus Praetorian_ **10**

_District 4 Female: Lush Thistle_ **9**

_District 5 Male: Ryan Jenkins_ **6**

_District 5 Female: Rima Vertes_ **5**

_District 6 Male: Phoenix Whitter _**4**

_District 6 Female: Greylyn Conway _**3**

_District 7 Male: Tyrion Pond_ **5**

_District 7 Female: Kilea Fairbane _**5**

_District 8 Male:Magic Ayerzuela_ **4**

_District 8 Female: Dakota Phillips_ **6**

_District 9 Male: Jerin Flynn _**4**

_District 9 Female: Pippa Rosalin _**5**

_District 10 Male: Nex Winters _**7**

_District 10 Female: Adalia Davenport _**6**

_District 11 Male: Cyrus Ithilien _**3**

_District 11 Female: Elliah Feren _**4**

_District 12 Male: Loken Farris_ **5**

_District 12 Female: Sparrow Adair_ **7**

Oh, yes. _This_ is what I've been waiting for. Sure, it might have been painful getting here, but this list is totally going to make things . . .

Hang on.

_District 2 Male: Jem Show_ **6**

Six?

_Six?!_

Yes, all right, I'll admit: I wasn't expecting a stunning score. I'm no Quintus or Quartz or whatever. But still, I was expecting, well, not a six. I'm tied with the girl from 8, for crying out loud! And the girl from 10, and the guy from 5, and the girl from 3. Heck, I'm being _beaten_ by tributes from 10 and 12. Outlier districts and they're completely outshining me.

Maybe the worst part is though, it's not all that surprising. As shocked and offended as I try to act, it feels about right. Which is horribly embarrassing, not to mention a bit of a blow to the self-esteem. A tribute from a diehard Career district and I'm tied for last place in our alliance with training scores.

I'm so getting thrown out of the Pack.

Unless I change things. Which I don't hesitate to do immediately, one finger quickly pressing the backspace button while another replaces the empty space with a much more satisfying number.

_District 2 Male: Jem Show_ **9**

There, now, that's fine, isn't it? A tad ridiculous but hey, it's not like anyone will deny it. Although Quintus might, now that I think about it. But even if he didn't believe it, how would he be able to prove it was a lie? Other than my obvious lack of skill once we get into the arena . . .

I sigh quietly, staring at the little lying number that almost seems to be mocking me in its falsehood. _Look at me! I represent everything you could never accomplish! Aren't I just _such _a beautiful, unattainable thing?_

Oh, come on, what's wrong with me? I've never felt pathetically inferior before, even back in my district with _hundreds_ of Careers. Maybe this is just the pressure of the Games, pushing me to feel sorry for myself. It certainly seems to happen with other tributes.

But not me any longer. No, Jem Show is no ordinary "other tribute". He's the guy sitting at the Gamemaker's table with a lovely nine for a training score, not some kid crying and moaning about their oh-so-tragic past. I sit back in the chair and smirk happily to myself, letting the full realisation of what I just did hit me. So what if they gave me a six before? If I managed to pull off sneaking in undetected and changing the scores, I deserve way more than the nine I gave myself. I'd say at _least_ a ten, and just the thought of Quintus' face if he ever saw me tied with him makes me laugh.

Hmm, speaking of Quintus . . .

My fingers have just tapped out the new number when the sounds of faint conversation reach my ears and I both jump and curse. _Shoot_; in all this excitement, I _completely_ forgot my time limit. A glance at the clock in the centre indicates that, sure enough, about ten minutes have passed, and I'd better get out of here _now_ if I want to escape from this unscathed.

Whoever told you going through an air vent is easy, well, it is, relatively. It's going _back _through that's difficult. This grate is higher off the ground than the one for my entrance, and I have to move a chair over and stand on it just to manage to pull myself up. Yeah, a chair right underneath the air duct; _that_ isn't suspicious.

The other problem, I realise while still struggling to pull my torso through the hole, is repositioning the grate. It lies in front of me, leaning against the side of the vent, and there's no way I'd be able to put it back while facing this way; the duct isn't big enough to allow for turning around. Which means now I have to get out, somehow climb in _backwards_, reposition the grate and crawl back to my starting point while facing the other way.

Maybe I should have thought this through.

"And then I was like, no way you're invited to the president's party. But she was!"

"No way!"

"I know! So I asked if she could somehow get me in and . . ."

Crap! It's Hironius and the unnamed female Gamemaker from before. Frantically I try pulling myself in through the grate faster, but mine aren't exactly the poster arms for strength and fitness. My thighs are just sliding into the hole when I hear the telltale sign of a door opening and my heart drops.

"So now I'm going to the party! Isn't that incredible?"

"Oh my gosh, yes! I'm so- EEEEEEEK!"

I wince as the scream nearly blows my eardrums out. Yeesh, you'd think that Hironius guy shares DNA with a bat. Well, the game's up now, unless I can somehow get away without them knowing who was in the duct. _Come on, come on!_ I shout to myself. _Just keep going, pull yourself further through and don't stop crawling._

"What, what _is_ that?!"

"I don't know, but it's moving! Hironius, help me catch it!"

"With my _hands_?!"

Their words make me speed up even faster, but to no avail. In a matter of seconds I feel two hands wrap around my ankle, as well as an all-too-familiar sensation of the elastic material around my knee slipping off as my prosthetic is tugged.

My leg comes out of the duct just a few seconds before I do.

"Ahhhhhh!"

Another one of Hironius' girly screams echo all around me, but not for long; soon I'm tumbling out of the vent as well (backwards, thankfully, which means feet first), and sort of fall into/am caught by the female Gamemaker. She holds me up under my arms, and though I can't see her face, I know she must be staring in shock. Hironius himself seems much too preoccupied with the prosthetic leg he holds in his hands.

"It came off, it came off! Its leg came off in my hands! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my-"

"Hironius, calm down, it's just-"

"What happened?"

I wince; things are just going from bad to worst. Before the female Gamemaker could attempt to calm her hysterical co-worker, the door burst open again and in came another man and woman. Not ones I recognised, until the woman opened her mouth to ask a question and I realise, with a horrible sinking feeling in my gut, that it's the Head Gamemaker, Illieth Wornwurther.

Both her and her companion stop short at the sight that meets their eyes, gazes darting from me to Hironius, who's decided to fling my prosthetic across the room in an attempt to distance himself from it. For a moment, no one speaks. Then, "Well, here's something you don't see every day."

His voice marks the man who just walked in as Anthaenin and despite his cool, snide remarks from before, even he can't seem to contain his surprise. His speaking seems to have knocked Illieth out of her daze however, and she quickly jumps in with another question. "Yyanna, what's going on?"

"I-I don't know," the woman holding me says. "We just came in and saw something in the vents, so Hironius and I pulled it out and-"

"I pulled off its foot!" the other Gamemaker shouts, still seemingly distraught over this fact. "I was just too strong and I pulled it right off!"

I roll my eyes, though I can't entirely keep the grin off my face. Funny, we have all these ideas that the Gamemakers are these big, powerful members of an elite group of people destined to kill us off in the most entertaining ways possible. But really, they're just ridiculous Capitol citizens like everyone else. "You know, you can reattach it."

The fact that I spoke startles them back into silence, and for another few seconds, all they do is stare at me. Once again though, Illieth gets her wits back first. "And who, exactly, are you?"

As much as I'd love to accompany my introduction with a sarcastic bow, I'm still being held by Yyanna and my options for movement are rather limited. So I settle for a small salute. "Jem Show, and your service."

I was hoping for a little more of a reaction. Maybe some cries of, "You!" or "Oh, this tribute!". What I get, however, is more silence. And blank states.

I sigh. "District 2 male? Honestly, you think you'd keep track of your tributes."

Well, _that_ gets a reaction out of them, at least. Everyone's eyes widen, and Illieth herself looks like she just swallowed an olive pit. "A . . . a tribute?" she asks incredulously. "Here?"

The time in which it takes them to realise what I've done is achingly slow, and I can't help but adding to her sentence with, "No, I'm back on the District 2 floor where I'm supposed to be."

Whether she's managed to fully wrap her head around the idea or not, my sarcasm seems to snap Illieth out of her shock and she frowns disapprovingly in my direction. "How did you get in here?"

"Through the door. Duh." And to my delight, all four of them turn back and stare at the way they've came.

My chuckles tip Anthaenin off first, who turns away from the door and raises an eyebrow. Then his eyes land on something behind me and he rolls his eyes. "Wonderful; we've caught a comedian," he says, throwing me a disparaging look before tapping Illieth on her shoulder. "He came through the air vents, obviously." Looking back my way, he adds, "You're not very subtle, are you?"

"I was pressed for time."

"It doesn't matter," Illieth interrupts quickly as Anthaenin opens his mouth to respond, "How he got in here. The important question is _why_."

She turns to stare at me, obviously expecting an answer. I shrug. "I wanted to check out this part of the gym out. Never been by the Gamemaker table before. Mind you, I'm not really impressed. Is this where you do all your important work? I was expecting huge labs, advanced technology, not one horrendously slow laptop that . . ."

I stop myself short, mentally cringing at the mistake I just made, but Illieth already caught it. _Idiot, idiot, idiot,_ I say to myself as she heads over to the device I just mentioned. _Why, why would you say that? IDIOT. _By mentioning the laptop, I've made the Gamemakers aware that _I'm_ aware of its presence. And the fact that I know it's slow means I must have gone on it, and as soon as they check the list they'll-

"Tell me, Illieth," Anthaenin says. He's headed over to the laptop and I inwardly cringe as his gaze travels down the list. "Do you remember giving the boy from 2 a nine?"

"What?" The Head Gamemaker joins him at the computer, her cold grey eyes narrowing further as she takes in my handiwork before slowly turning back to me.

"Come on, you're practically asking for someone to screw with your results," I say in answer to her accusing glare. "The thing isn't even password protected."

Her gaze darts to Hironius, who's begun to fidget at my words. "I was going to get on that," he mumbles.

For a moment, I'm expecting Illieth to hit him, or at the very least deliver a severe lecture. But the older woman merely ends up sighing, hands going to her temples in an attempt to rub the stress away. "Anthaenin," she says, signalling him over to her. "Go call a Peacekeeper in here to escort Mr Show back up to his floor. Hironius, get his . . . leg for him."

"So can I keep the nine?" I ask as Hironius whines and complains before inching his way over to my prosthetic with so much apprehension, you'd think it was a real, severed limb.

Illieth frowns, her hands dropping back to her sides. "Decidedly not."

"Aw, come on. My training sessions wasn't half-bad."

"And six isn't a half-bad score."

All right, she had me there; still, I'm a Career (in the absolute loosest sense of the word) and I'm pretty sure the standards are higher. "_Plus_ I infiltrated your little secret lair and uncovered top secret information. Isn't that worth anything?"

"You wormed your way through some air vents, learned information that, had you waited a few hours, would have been revealed to you anyways, and you were caught doing it." Okay, when you put it like _that_ . . . yeesh. This Head Gamemaker isn't easily impressed. "Now I suggest you take you leg from Hironius before he drops it again. It's time for you to leave, Mr Show."

Yyanna lowers me into a chair and I grab my prosthetic, which is indeed being held by in the increasingly shaky grip of Hironius. But something's still bothering me, something I may have wrongfully overlooked when going about my plan.

"Am I going to be punished?"

Illieth raises an eyebrow. "What could we possibly do to you?"

"Blow me up, trap me in a pit of spikes, sic a pack of bloodthirsty mutts on my tail. You may have to wait until the arena, but the possibilities are endless."

She smiles slightly, and though there's nothing menacing about the gesture, I realise I may have just planted some ideas in her head that could turn out _really_ unpleasant for me. "I'm afraid you'll just have to wait to find out, Mr Show. Trying to learn things in advance only leads to trouble."

"Touché."

I turn my attention back to reattaching my leg, but my heart seems to have sunk just a few more centimetres into my stomach. Not that I was actually expecting to keep the score I gave myself, but, well, Illieth's description of what I thought was an original, wonderful Jem Show Plan kind of put a dent in my self-esteem_. _

_You wormed your way through some air vents, learned information that, had you waited a few hours, would have been revealed to you anyways, and you were caught doing it_. Honestly, could she have retold it in any less impressive fashion?

And in addition to that, I've just now realised that pissing off Gamemakers = probably not the best idea in terms of later survival. Fantastic. Wow, Jem, really thought this one through. You're _definitely_ proving yourself to be different from the typical 2 idiots.

Crap.

My mood, however, is slightly lifted as the door reopens and Anthaenin walks back in, with the Peacekeeper charged to bring me back up to my floor and make sure I stay there. He's not wearing the white helmet that usually comes with their uniform, and I instantly recognise the crooked nose, beady brown eyes and permanent frown upon his face.

The man stops short upon seeing me, and his scowl deepens as his eyes widen. "You!"

Well, at least I'll be remembered by _someone_ here. "Don," I answer, giving him my biggest grin. "Good to see you again!"

Illieth looks from me to the Peacekeeper, her eyes filled with confusion. "You know this tribute?"

Don glowers at me, and I smile wider at the look. "Idiot's had me running all over the place the past few days. You know he tried to sneak out of the Centre?"

Ah, happy memories. "I like to think I'm making you better at your job, so that the next time a tribute walks literally right in front of you, you won't be too busy on your phone to notice."

His cheeks flush instantly. "That's not . . . I didn't . . . That's not what happened!"

"You sure? Because I think-"

"Mr Farento," Illieth cuts in sharply. "If you'd be so kind as to escort Mr Show back up to his floor."

The Peacekeeper glaring eyes haven't left me since he walked in, so I can imagine what his answer might be. "My pleasure," he says, though it's more of a growl as he stalks over and grabs my arm before leading me away from the room.

"So that's still a no about changing my score?" I call back to Illieth as I'm practically dragged away.

The corners of her lips twitch in amusement and she shakes her head. "I'm afraid so, Mr Show."

Darn. Well, maybe part of my plan can still . . .

"Hey." Yyanna's voice comes floating to my ears right before I'm led out the door. "We didn't give the boy from 4 a two, did we?"

Darn and darn again. Ah well, can't have everything. Or anything, as the case is for me now.

Don pulls me down first one hall, then another, until we're back in the Training Centre lobby. By the stony silence and frequent, out-of-the-corner-of-his-eye glares, I can tell he's still not pleased to see me.

"Aw, come on, Don, you aren't still mad about yesterday are you?"

"Two more days," he mutters, jabbing at the elevator up button, all while keeping a firm grip on my arm with his other hand. "Two more days and then you'll be out of my hair."

"Au contraire," I respond. "What if I come back?"

There's a moment of silence in which Don just stares at me in what I might consider horror at the thought of my winning the Games, and meanwhile I just grin back. His trance is broken though as the elevator dings and the doors slide open before us. "Not going to happen," he says. "Now get in."

"Aw, you don't even think I have a little chance?"

"No."

"Not one?"

"No."

"Not a tiny, little, itsy bitsy-"

"No. Also, shut up."

We lapse into silence after stepping into the elevator, and I have nothing to do but stare through the transparent, see-through walls and watch as the ground floor slowly grows distant. Good thing we only need to go up to the second floor; even the thought of going higher makes me queasy.

Another good reason for being on a lower floor; awkward elevator rides only last a minute. No sooner than we've gotten on are we getting off, and I step thankfully onto the solid, unmoving floor of our level in time to see both Cassie and our escort come around the corner. "Who's using the ele-" Gold starts, but stops abruptly at the sight of me walking out with Peacekeeper.

"Make sure he stays," Don grumbles in the direction of our escort as he pushes me forward. Then he's turning quickly back towards the elevator like I'm some sort of disease he doesn't want to catch. Which is probably his line of thinking, although to his dismay he's been forced to catch me three times now.

"I . . . what . . ." Our escort just stares as the doors to the elevator slide shut, his mouth gaping open moving soundlessly.

Cassie, however, proves she can retain her wits even under the event of a surprise. "What's going on?" she asks, raising an eyebrow in my direction as though she's already begun to guess how ridiculous the story might be.

I shrug, faking casual. "Not much. Just signing some autographs; he's a big fan."

My district partner rolls her eyes, but smiles all the same. Our escort, on the other hand, has quite a different reaction.

"What was that? Was that a Peacekeeper? Why were you with a Peacekeeper? What did you do?" Apparently every word lost in Gold's moment of speechlessness must be made up for as fast as possible, because once he gets his voice back, there's no stopping his babbling. "Was it illegal? Please, tell me it wasn't. But it was, wasn't it? Oh _no_."

"Well, you seem to have answered your own question," I say, clapping my hands together, "so I guess that means I'm good to go. Excellent; I'm starving. When's dinner?"

"_Jem_." This comes from Cassie; though she appears amused by our escort's frantic ramblings, she doesn't seem willing to let me off without an explanation.

"All right, all right. I was changing the training scores."

I purposefully keep a straight face during that last sentence, which makes their reactions all the funnier. With no knowing wink or laughing smirk, the full meaning of my words doesn't register with the pair until seconds after the words leave my mouth. Then the eyes widen, the mouths drop and the disbelief and shock enter.

"_What_?" Cassie asks.

"Changing the training scores. It's remarkably easy to do, actually. The Gamemakers are rather incompetent this year. Although they did manage to catch me, so, eh, maybe they're not awful."

"You were . . . you were . . ." Oh dear: I think I broke my escort. Gold's eyes as large as dinner place, and he repeats the same stunned phrase over and over like some sort of defective record player. "You were . . . you were . . . _what_?"

"Changing. The. Training. Scores. Or trying to. Seriously, are you guys deaf?"

"How?" Cassie demands.

"Snuck in through the air vents, got on their laptop and hit the backspace button a few times. Like I said, not hard."

"But that's-" Gold opens and closes his mouth, trying to come up with a word to describe my actions. "T-that's _illegal_!"

"Oh no," I say in mock horror. "What are they going to do? Lock me up? Make me pay a fine? Kill me?"

"Probably that last one," Cassie interjects.

I pause, and all of the false bravado and amusement leaks out of me like I'm a deflating balloon. Once again, I'm reminded that my chances of living in the arena have probably drastically gone down; and they weren't all that high to begin with. Me, the master planner, the guy who never misses anything, the guy who couldn't afford to screw up in the brain department because he literally has nothing else going for him. "Yeah." I sigh. "Thought of that a little too late."

* * *

Dinner is a sombre affair, alternating between forced, polite conversation of how Cassie's training session went and tense silence during which all eyes seem to drift to me. After getting over his initial shock, Gold went into a rage, lecturing me about how badly I'd screwed up mine and Cassie's chances at victory. The District 2 mentors didn't seem too pleased either. Cassie, for her part, has yet to show anger at my actions, even though, besides myself, it's her they'll probably affect most. Maybe she's just waiting for the right moment. Or maybe, and there's only a faint, faint hope of this, but maybe she doesn't actually care. Though at this moment in time, I'm not banking on that. Things haven't exactly been going well for me today.

But forget that; if I start acting like I've made mistakes, other people will start believing it. Turns out you can fool pretty much anyone into thinking you totally meant to do something that you appear to have completely screwed up, so long as you play it well. God knows I've tricked Kor with that tactic enough times. No use being down on yourself, or other people'll start doing the same thing.

Which is why I plaster on the biggest, cockiest grin I can manage as we all gather around the television to watch the revealing of the training scores, and relax into the couch with an big sigh. "Honestly, do I really have to watch these things? I already know what all the scores are."

The only response I get is a glare from Gold, who feels the need to punish me for my actions by refusing to speak to me. I never would have guessed our escort had the capability to be that intelligent; it's the best idea he's had since I met him.

Quartz's picture pops up first and everyone leans forward slightly in anticipation to see our ally's score, but I just yawn. "Nine," I say, disinterested, and everyone glances at me just as that very number pops up on screen.

Next, Allure. "Eight."

"Will you stop?" Gold snaps as her score pops up. "You're ruining the suspense."

This is the point where usually, I'd continue, just to bother him, but I'd rather not foreshadow the next score. That way I'll save myself, what, two seconds of embarrassment?

My picture pops up. Everyone looks at me, waiting, perhaps, for me to say the score, but I just sit on the couch and stare at the screen, waiting dully for the six to appear.

And then a number flashes on screen: 7.

Seven?

Seven?!

"Yes!" Everyone jumps at my outburst, but I'm too stunned and ecstatic to notice. They actually . . . they actually . . . "Oh, man, yes!"

Cassie raises an eyebrow. "What are you so happy about?"

Her confusion is valid; after all, for a normal Career, a seven would still be somewhat embarrassing. Not for me though. Especially since . . . "Well, that was a six just a few hours ago. Now I'm not the worst in the Career Pack! Haha, yeah! Take that, girl from 8!"

Everyone's so focused on me, they almost miss Cassie's score as the big eight flashes onscreen. Then, realising what happened, our mentors turn from me to my district partner, congratulating her while Gold does the same. I let her enjoy the spotlight, basking in my own form of triumph that no Career but me could relish. The Head Gamemaker actually did it: she changed my score. Of course, it's not exactly the nine I'd originally given myself, but hey, I was expecting no change, or even the possibility of her lowering it to like, a three or something. My whole life has been a series of letdowns, and I've always been the only one who could ever do anything to change that. But finally, _finally_, someone else sees my value. Someone else has finally decided to help me out, if in a tiny, indirect manner.

Someone else believes in me.

I mean, it's only a small change; I shouldn't get carried away or anything. Still, look out tributes; Jem Show's back in the game and he's now got a training score one step above half-bad.

Be afraid; be very, very afraid.


	28. Preparing for the Future

**A/N- **Hey everyone, I'm reallllyyyyy sorry for the long wait. I've had this chapter but I said I wouldn't update until I sorted out some Games stuff because of course I don't want to get to the Games and not actually have given out chapters but I'm incredibly lazy so hopefully I'll get round to doing that soon. In the meantime though I really thought I definitely should update so here you all are! Soundhawk unfortunately had to leave for various reasons so the amazing SafeEyesOpen stepped in to write this chapter. Big thanks to Vix! :D

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**Quintus Xavier Praetorian, District Four Male**

**Preparation for Interviews**

___**Written by SafeEyesOpen, submitted by Soundhawk**_

* * *

_What do you think of me now, Cassius? What do you think of my volunteering now? _I think to myself, and scan the room with my eyes as the multi colored people scatter all around me. They're like a field of mice. Oddly colored, strangely colored, _mice._ Their voices sure squeak like mice.

Why are these people so…altered? They look like they belong in a street show that you'll occasionally see, where the people dress up all crazy and act and dance like the fools they are. Fabian laughs about them with me when we've seen them, and the thought of being in his house brings a smile to my face.

Even with the overwhelming smell of liquor and smoke that hangs in the air, his house will always be my true one. He is my only family member who really likes me, and as I continue to think of him, I feel a pang of sadness. I miss him.

_Nows not the time for that, _I think to myself.

Just as the thought leaves my mind, Lush's annoying voice brings me back to my thoughts, though I only catch about half of what she says.

"…Does she have any training at all? I don't see her do anything, yet somehow she got Dakota in the group? Why did you agree to that, anyways?" She asks me, and I assume she's talking about Allure again. Dakota, yes, the arrogant, needy redhead from Eight. She's a bit of a benefit, because now we have even more numbers. And not to mention, her sister's a past victor, so maybe she'll offer something that the Careerers have never really had. But I know that's not the real reason I accepted her.

Cassie thought it would be smart to let her in, and Cassie is no idiot. The thought of her brings training back into my mind, where I continued to flirt and pester her the whole time. But unlike the other girls, back in my own district, she's different. A little harder to toy with I suppose you could say. She's her own leader, and she wants to be in charge of herself. I like her, and that's a hazard.

Never before though have I ever truly loved someone; family or friend. I don't plan on it. But the feelings I get around Cassie are odd. I don't see myself to play her just as I do with the other girls. Besides, I have a feeling if I tried, she'd kill me right then and there.

I smile, she sure knows her way with weapons.

"Quintus, hello? Are you even listening?" Lush says, continuing to try and banter with me.

"No, now shut up and let me think." I tell her sarcastically, and she slugs me in the arm. I swat at her, and she bares her teeth.

"Oh please. Try acting tough around Greylyn again. That's the only thing you've managed to scare this whole trip." I spit back at her, and she narrows her eyes into a beady glare.

Finally, a Capitol woman approaches us with an electronic keyboard in hand, speaking to someone in an earpiece underneath her fusia hair.

"Yes, I know, I've got the information right in my hands, I'm not stupid Haun, thanks." She says bitterly, and then looks at me and Lush, motioning for us to stand. She points towards a hallway a little deeper into the building, and with that starts walking towards it, and I suppose I'm supposed to follow.

I start walking, and Lush trails behind me like the little puppy she is. We round a corner, and eventually stand before two doors. The lady finally addresses us here, and tells us where to go.

"Quintus, you'll be heading into the left room for interview prep, and Lush, you'll be in the room to the right. Sit in the chair and the stylist will be there shortly." She says, and then takes back off down the hall, her heels clicking.

"Bye for now, menace." I throw out to Lush, and I hear her growl. The sound makes me laugh, and I know she'll do nothing more to challenge me than fight with her words. I can't wait until the Careerers split – I'll be the first one with arms wrapped around her neck.

I walk into the room, and see the chair that the woman told us about. I take a seat, and within seconds a crew of misfits burst into the room, unnaturally high smiles and mops for hair their most significant features. They beam at me, and I smirk.

"Hello, misfits." I tell them, and their smiles falter a bit. Following after them enters my head stylist, a man who I already know as Farin. I give him a big, sarcastic smile, and he chuckles. The man knows what he's doing, and so I'm not about to challenge him. He made us shine in the parade, Lush more so than myself. But eh, that's alright, the more sexual appeal we can get, the better.

Appeal means sponsors, and if Lush has sponsors, I'm guaranteed to have ten times as many. I'm the leader of the Careerers this year, and so I'm the crowds best bet. Besides, who wouldn't support someone with my charms?

"Well Quintus, for your interview, we've got to give you an outfit that will knock the crowd dead. So, we're using your looks to your own advantage. Your welcome." Farin says to me, swishing his red hair out of his eyes.

I nod, and lean back, gesturing for my prep team to get to working. They strip me down from my clothes and send me into the bathtub; cleaning my skin to the shiniest I've ever seen it. I have no problem with these people seeing me nude, plenty of girls in my district have, and I'm sure as hell not ugly. In fact, these people are blessed to be able to see me. One of the women has been checking me out this whole time, and so I slip out, "Pleased with what you see?" She blushes cherry red, like the toppings to the ice cream they served us for desert last night. She shuffles away, and I tilt my head back in laugher.

Silly, easily manipulated, shallow Capitolians.

Once they believe I'm clean, they take me out of the bath and begin to moisturize my body in many different soaps and concoctions. I'm not quite sure what they all are, but they work.

Finally, I see they've stopped to discuss the scars covering my hands and arms. I look to them, and with each scar, I have a different memory. A different fight. And for most of them, a different victory.

Finally, the woman who was staring at me earlier brings down a cloudy blue serum of some sort, and dipping her fingers into the jar she pulls some out, and begins to rub it over my scars. I wonder what she's doing, yet the effect is almost instant, so I have no need to.

Within moments, my scars begin to sink back below my skin, the angry patches smoothing over and leaving my skin clear and innocent. I panic for a moment. Where have they gone? Where are the memories? Where are the scars I have earned and been given over the years? Gone, that's where, because in the Capitol's eyes, these are not attractive. Scars are signs of ugliness, and my opinion isn't worth shit here.

My mood falls, and my prep teams soars.

"Great! His skins perfect now! Lets get him dressed now." They exclaim, giggling and squealing from within their own little circle.

Good, at least Farin is the one in charge of dressing me, so there will be _some _sanity in this process.

My prep team has me stand, and leads me into another room that they had inhabited earlier. It's filled with many different outfit choices and clothes and décor, and colors burst out of every crevice of it.

Farin finally pops up, his head tilting to the side as if he's sizing me up.

"Quintus! Stand over there in front of those mirrors, I'll go on and grab your outfit." He says, pointing at a mirror setup on the far edge of the room. I wander off towards it, gazing out upon the sea of fabrics and designs that fill the room. There's so many options and colors that it makes my head spin, so I close my eyes and wander what the others will be wearing. I presume that Lush will be in a dress, though I hope it's revealing so the sponsors here will look at her. I don't find her to be too attractive, but hey, the Capitol men know what they like to see.

My thoughts go back to Cassie again, and now _her_, I would love to see in something revealing. She's gorgeous, and I would have no problems seeing her flaunt around like a prize. I doubt Allure will, due to her reserved, elegant manner. I have a feeling she'll be going against the typical District One female traditions.

Finally, Farin is back, and he holds a garment bag in both of his hands, the ends draped over both of his thin arms. He unzips the bag, laying it over a chair, and pulls out a tux, or suit of some sort, in an alternating shade of black and grey. It looks somewhat old and ragged, yet mighty and bold. I raise my eyebrows, and he simply replies with a, "You'll see."

I shrug, and wait to see his plans for me.

He pulls out a deep black shirt, and then sets everything aside. He tosses me some undergarments, so I slide them on under the robe I was given.

Finally, he pulls out some slacks, and carefully helps me into them. They are again the same shade of black as the shirt, and Farin makes an effort to smooth any crinkle and let them sit over my legs. He slides the shirt over my arms, buttoning each button easily as he has me hold my arms out to the sides. I obey, gazing around as he continues to dress me, and staring at nothing in particular.

Finally, he has me slide on the jacket, and I notice the intertwining grey and black patterns of what looks like dust on the hem and throughout the pattern. I step into a pair of black dress shoes, and with that he brushes out my hair, purposely messing it up into what I'm guessing is an attractive style.

Once he's finished, he turns me to my mirror, and I gaze out at his creation. The outfit on me looks refined, old, and honorable. The grey I suppose is meant to create a haze in the eyes of those who look at it, and the pattern suggest that it belonged to someone in high power before being placed on me.

The black creates a depth to me, something that draws your eyes to my chest and makes you look at the muscles that show through my sleeves. I'm bold. I'm powerful. You can't take your eyes off of me. I feel almighty and grand, and the outfit makes you assume that I am someone more powerful than I actually am, and I love it.

I'm powerful.

I'm a leader.

I'm Quintus Xavier Praetorian, and the crowd is bound to recognize my name.


	29. Sponsor Central

**A/N- **Okay I have my new internet now and I can get this back on track. I told myself that once I moved and everything was settled I'd get this story organized and everything. Us mods are in the process now of getting 14 all planned for games and stuff so don't worry, from this point onwards things will be getting better! The rest of the capitol chapters may be all over the place, I don't know when the next will be up but from the bloodbath onwards I will make sure the chapters stick to schedule! Anyway enjoy this chapter! :D Thanks for sticking with us!

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**Cassiterite Vellumptuai, District Two Female**

**Interviews, Districts 1-4**

_**SafeEyesOpen**_

* * *

"…_you don't know me yet…"_

Those were the words I had stated quite clearly to my stylist on my first day in the Capitol. The small, arrogant man had tried to force me into acting completely absurd, flaunting myself all over to appeal to the men of the Capitol. I didn't buy that though. The man himself however kept his eyes off me, but I didn't hesitate to cross my arms over my chest. My stylist couldn't sponsor me, so why sink down to that? It wasn't like flaunting myself was my choice; it was simply something that needed to be done. It was a bare essential if I wanted to keep living, and it was up to me to carry that on my shoulders.

I had to be reputable. I had to pull in as many sponsors as I could. That way, the careers themselves would have a bounty of supplies, and since I was classified as so; that meant I would be well taken care of. And then, when the inevitable time came for us to split, I'd have all the sponsors left, because I'm one of their best bets. I'm a go-getter, and I'm most certainly a malignant contender at that.

Not to mention the fact that they don't know my secrets yet.

Training has gone wonderfully. I participated in every station, showed the skills I needed to show, and the looks that some of the tributes gave me were looks of pure dread.

And it was simply delicious.

They had all believed my performance, or so I thought. I couldn't quite assume that for everyone, because there's always someone just as smart as you. The hard part is learning to pick them out.

Each night as I returned to my floor alongside Jem, I couldn't help but smile. Not just because Jem was genuinely entertaining, and fun to listen to, but because of the fact that they all sat around, unsuspecting, as if they knew all my avails and adversaries. They parade around as though they are so sure of themselves, so sure that they know what will happen. I chuckle alongside Jem each night, and I'm slightly pitiful that he has to die. Jem's not bad; really, he's rather quirky and humorous, though some things seem to anger him, like the mention of his family. Maybe he's like me. Maybe it's bad at home. But I'd never ask. I don't like spilling my secrets much either.

This year's alliance was somewhat questionable. Something had took me completely by surprise was the girl from District One, Allure. I had expected a blonde ditz, flaunting herself at any chance she could get. A girl who was loud, obnoxious, and demeaning. Allure met none of these expectations. She was smart. She was resourceful. Unlike my prediction, she wasn't really loud, let alone obnoxious. Really, she tended to stay with Quartz, her male partner. Another mystery I wished I could find out.

Quartz was different too. Starting from the reapings, where they had hugged rather than shaking hands. They seemed to have some sort of mysterious bond; a relationship that wasn't quite romantic. It was more of a protector type of thing, where they looked out for each other. And I suppose I had that too.

Quintus is something unique to me. He's a survivor, and if I'm correct his brother won the games. But more than that, we seem to have something, though I don't necessarily know what I'd call it. We flirt. We tease. We have a friends with benefits type of atmosphere, and the weird thing is, I don't feel like I'm being played. I feel somewhat safe when I stand by him, as if he wants to protect me himself. But I can't depend on someone else to take care of me. I have to take care of myself. But as far as the alliance goes, Quintus knows what he's doing. He's strong, bold, smart, and quite skeptical. He isn't one to let things slide by, he makes sure everything's right, and really, I think he'll take us quite far in these Games.

As long as he doesn't get killed that is.

When I think of Quintus dying, I feel somewhat uneasy, and if I have a weakness in these Games, I've let it be him. Quintus appears completely brute and lethal, but that doesn't mean that's what his personality is. So what he flirts with every girl he sees? He doesn't actually stick with any of them but me. We're the same in a way, doing what needs to be done, and expecting nothing more from the people around us. It's simply a benefit if we chose to do so.

No, my allies have been nothing that I expected them to be.

I turn around to the sound of someone stepping in through the doors, shutting it as faintly as possible. It's only Amor, my stylist, who I neither like nor dislike. He's not necessarily enjoyable, keeping to himself and only murmuring on occasion, but his creations are always of the best, and I wonder in my mind how it is that he brings these things to life.

The man's rather small, only about 5'2", with snow white hair and altered purple eyes. He typically wears clothes along the same color scheme, and unlike most of the people here, I don't wonder to myself, _what the hell is wrong with you? _His decisions make sense, and for that I'm grateful. He makes me look my best and then it's over, no praise, no denial, simply a nod when I come off the stage, or step off my chariot.

He's strange, but whatever he's doing works, so I don't question it much.

"Your final interviews are tonight Cassie. Do you have something planned?" Ask Amor, his voice taking me by surprise. He doesn't typically speak this loud.

"Yes, I'm going for alluring and deadly." I shift around at alluring; it's not really how I want to win. But we'll need sponsors, so the others will be depending on me for that. There's always Allure, yes, but something tells me she isn't doing that. She doesn't like flaunting herself either, I can tell. The only difference is that it has to be done; so I'm stepping up to the plate to do it.

"I was hoping that's what you would say." Amor replies, a devious smile creeping up over his pearly teeth.

"Why's that?" I ask, turning with curiosity.

"Because that's how I designed your dress, but it's a little more than that." He says, standing and walked over to a wardrobe.

My eyes follow him as he runs his hands along the intricate patterns in the wood until his fingers catch and he reveals a key. He pulls back, puts it into the lock, and turns it. With that, the doors swing open, revealing a garment bag and many other things.

"Now, Cassie, my planned angle can only get to you in one way; and for it to work you need to close your eyes as I prep you." Amor says, awaiting my reaction.

He's my stylist, and he's proved he knows what he's doing, so I nod my head and stand, walking over to him. He points at my clothes, telling me to take them off, and I do, though somewhat uncomfortably. But so far, Amor has poised no interest in me. In fact, I think he spends more time staring at men of the prep team than me. That, I'm glad for.

I stand still, like a little doll while satiny material slips over my arms, my hair is brushed, things are adjusted, and finally, something is placed over my eyes. Amor offers me his hand as I step into a pair of heels, and I stumble around blind before a mirror I'm guessing. Finally, Amor whispers, "Open your eyes."

With that, my lids flash open and my vision fades for a moment at the sudden bright light. But as it clears, I can see the magic the Amor has created.

I wear a dress of royal blue that hugs my waist and flows down like a waterfall, and at the bottom it fans out in a royal fashion. My waist looks slim as my hands still doddle behind me, and gold seems to make up accents all over. The heels I wear give me more of an elegant look, not sultry, and I'm glad. My arms are painted with thorns again, but this time the thorns are golden rather than silver, as if I've somehow moved up. The sleeves hang off my shoulders in a tasteful style, not slutty. Finally, covering my eyes is a golden mask, covered in thorns and bits of black glitter and coal. I'm unrecognizable. Even my necklace chain has been exchanged with gold.

I'm not alluring, I'm lovely. I'm not innocent, I'm scary. And then I realize what the mask is for.

"…_you don't know me yet…"_

It's going to be up to the audience and the other tributes to decide what I am.

"It's…perfect." I tell Amor, my eyes sizing up a girl unrecognizable to even myself. Her hair is curly rather than straight, and her looks appear effortless. Even the black swarming my eyes and making me look unnerving are different. I've always felt like a threat; but never as much as now.

"Thank you." Amor says, a small smile creeping onto his face at his appreciated work.

"Now, Cassie, let's see you walk." He commands, and I nod, lifting my wrist to hold my dress up off the floor like a lady should. But at that, Amor smacks my wrist.

"What are you doing?" He asks me, his eyes clinical.

"Performing correct behavior." I tell him, my eyes wandering with confusion.

"Good behavior? You're going into the Games. You can use that when you get back, don't bother now. What do you want the Capitol to think of when they hear your name?" He asks me, his deep purple irises boring into my blue ones.

"Do you want to be, _Cassiterite, the girl who wore a pretty dress and was polite? _Or do you want to be _Cassiterite, the girl who couldn't be tamed, even in that perfect dress. _You're meant to be scary. Do it. Scare me." He says, and I realize he's right.

Who will take me seriously if all I do is listen to what my escort tells me? I'm vicious and lethal, why should I listen to that? I'm scary. I'm a future winner. I don't have to be polite.

I nod back at Amor, and he takes my wrist in his hands, easily wrapping his fingers over my thin arms.

"You're a winner Cassie. I know you are. It's just a mind game, and I know you're smart. Just keep your head up and don't let anyone get by. Kill all who can be killed, and don't trust anyone. You're not here for friends, you're here for blood. You can win. And since I already made your recaps interview dress, you don't have any choice but to come back to me." Amor tells me, a smile on his features, a genuine one.

I nod, smiling myself. _I'll do it Amor, _I think to myself. _I'll win. I'll be a victor. And I won't trust anyone._

Trust is simply a word, and words mean nothing. It's all about actions, and I'm going to be careful with mine.

* * *

I clutch Jem's hand as I stand backstage, and he looks at me curiously.

"Don't let me fall." I whisper, and he nods, reining out of my grasp.

"Why don't you pick up the dress?" He asks, chuckling to himself.

"Because Amor told me I shouldn't and that we'd get more sponsors like this." I tell him seriously.

Although I'm not supposed to trust anyone, Jem is who I would put first. He's funny and good company, and he's certainly not stupid. He knows that we need to play out all our angles just right, and make sure that we get as many sponsors as possible. The kids smart, and I feel bad that he has to die. I hope it's not me who has to do it; because that makes my stomach turn. Jem is still somewhat innocent. Never has he felt the pleasure of hurting someone else, yet he wants to jump forward and kill? He's more complex than I know, but I don't worry too much. It seems he just wants to stay in the group for as long as he can, and though the others doubt him, I see him making it. Between him and Lush, I see him going farther. Lush is a fighter, but she doesn't seem just as smart as Jem. So I suppose I'll have to wait and see.

"Are you ready?" I ask him, turning my head and looking at him.

He fiddles with his cuffs before answering, and then looks up.

"Would I have volunteered if not?" He says, smiling sarcastically. I can't help but chuckle.

"No, I guess not." I agree, and lean back against the wall.

We sit in silence, and then I see three of my fellow allies pour out from around a corner. Quintus, Lush, and Allure turn, neither really speaking to one other. My eyes brighten, and my gut twist a bit at Allure. I feel somewhat…bad for how I've treated her. She was nothing I expected a District One girl to be, and I treated her like dirt anyways. I feel like I should say something, try and change it. But who knows if she even wants to hear it.

She looks rather pretty, and like I thought, she's not revealing at all. She wears a pale yellow dress with sleeves that go to her elbows, and it trains a bit behind her as she walks. Her hair is slightly curly, and it appears she's been running her hands through her bangs. She looks pretty.

"That's a nice dress." I tell her, smiling genuinely.

She looks at me with surprise, scrutinizing me as if it may be a joke, waiting for the pun. I turn away awkwardly and she mumbles a small, "Thank you," before turning away again and walking back around the corner. Probably looking for Quartz.

Then I can see Quintus coming, and I turn towards Jem, starting to whisper.

"_Watch out for him. He doubts you." _I tell him, and Jem looks to the floor, an inconspicuous nod.

Then, Quintus' voice is behind me and saying my name.

"Cassie, hello." He says flirtatiously, raising his eyebrows.

"Hello Quintus." I say back, tapping my golden nails against my chin.

He grabs my waist and pulls me away, smirking at Jem as he does. He leads me around a few corners into a room off by itself as he pulls me in and shuts the door, hiding us.

"Cassie." He says, biting his lip and smiling.

"Quintus." I say back, stepping forward and running my fingers up his arm. This seems to make him smile any time I do it, so I smile too, because it's almost like it's contagious around him.

"Are you ready for the interviews?" He asks me, serious.

"Yes, anything specific you want me to talk about?" I ask him, and he seems pleased that I'm willing to speak for him.

"Just make us look good, seems you look good enough, why not spread it?" He says, smiling and winking at me, which causes me to laugh.

"Of course, what else would I be doing?" I say sarcastically, which causes him to smile.

"Are _you_ ready?" I ask him, batting my eyelashes.

He takes my wrist in his hand, holding it against his chest as he pulls me forward.

"I was born ready." He whispers sadistically into my ear, enjoying every moment of it. I can feel his warm breathe against my neck as he laughs at nothing in particular, and then he looks me in the eye and kisses me.

I stand there for a moment before reacting, and then I kiss him back, my hands against his chest as he pulls me closer, smiling as he does. This goes on for about a minute until I pull away, stopping Quintus with my fingers as he tries to close the space.

"It's about time for the interviews, we have to go." I tell him seriously, and he grabs my hand, twisting his fingers through mine as he smiles.

"I suppose." He says with a sigh, his dark hair falling into his green eyes.

He then starts walking, trailing me along with him, and I follow.

* * *

The moment is finally here, and the interviews are about to start. All us tributes stand in line, one after the other behind the stage, some shaking in fear and others looking around apprehensively. I can see bits of color on everyone, from magenta to yellow to gold. I'm standing before Jem and blinking my eyes, making sure that my lashes don't stick together.

"You ready?" He asks me in a whisper, and I look at him.

"Yes, just double checking myself." I tell him, fidgeting with my gown and drawing it off the floor.

"I thought Amor said not to do that." Jem comments, gesturing towards my hands.

"Yeah, well, I can be his little rebel onstage. Until then, forget it." I say back, finally dropping my hands.

Jem simply chuckles, and comments, "You look fine, you're going to do great. We're sure to have a tons of sponsors Cassie; Don't worry."

I smile at him before turning around gazing around. Quartz and Allure stand side by side at the front of the line, looking at each other as if understanding an unspoken language between glances. I can see her fiddle with her dress, and then Quartz tentatively reaches his hand out and straightens her necklace. She smiles, and he simply nods back.

With that I turn back to Jem, wondering what possible relationship those two have. It's like they're connected somehow, as if they feel what the other is feeling. They're always there for each other, though it's not romantic. It's intriguing to watch them, but when Allure's eyes flutter and meet mine, I actually mouth some words to her.

"_Good luck." _I whisper, not smiling or adding any traces of sarcasm to my actions. I'm being serious. I hope she succeeds, and I feel contrition at how I've treated her. She has been nothing but nice and tolerable about my actions towards her, and all I've done is thrown an axe at her. Though, I don't know if even _that_ was a good move at the time. I'm supposed to be pretending I can't throw knives and such for my life; yet I can throw a deadly axe with ease? I suppose I could say that I'm just not good with knives, but even now they could assume I'm hiding something. But Allure? I figured she'd be a bitch; but she's not. She's more like a flower; fragile, sweet, and somewhat innocent. She even got Dakota into the group, and how she got me to agree to that, I have no idea. She has a bit of a charm, and you can't help but want to go her way.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts as Jem taps my taps my shoulder, pulling me back into reality. He points at the screen, where it appears Jokle Marcellus, the interviewer since the first Games, is trying to get started. I can see the Peacekeepers lining the front of the stage to guard all of us from some of the savage citizens who may try to touch us or possibly jump on stage. Some people really are crazy.

Finally, he decides its time to get the show started, and I listen.

"Now, lets see if she really is as _alluring_ as her name makes us think, welcome the District One female, Allure Medina!" Yells Jokle, and I turn my head, watching as her eyes widen at Quartz and he touches her shoulder, a little nudge forward. And with that, she strides out confidently in her dress that sadly, for the Capitol that is, is _not_ meant to be alluring.

The audience screams at her presence and Jokle looks somewhat confused as she approaches him, and me and Jem decide to turn to the TV rather than trying to look out. Then, we watch.

"So, Allure, you look lovely this evening, how do you like the Capitol?" He asks her, being as buoyant as possible.

"It's beautiful, all the people here are so splendid as well, so nice." She says, beaming proudly.

"Speaking of beautiful, I hear you're a model back home. How is that?" Jokle asks, leaning forward inventively.

She seems somewhat too hesitant to answer, as if she doesn't want to answer anything about that.

"Well thanks to my alliance this year that doesn't matter now does it?" She answers, changing the subject somewhat inconspicuously. Jokle seems to get the hint, but doesn't care as he pries for more.

"Well, does modeling offer you any skills here do you think, that the others won't have?" He asks, and she blinks.

"Well, my entire alliance consists of attractive people, so no, not really." She says, chuckling. This gets a laugh from the Capitol.

_That's brilliant. _I think. _She didn't want to answer, so she made us all look good._

Jokle continues, seeing the clock is ticking.

"So how about that eight, huh? You seem to have tied with Ms. Vellumptuai, how is it you achieved that?" He asks, smiling.

"Well, you're going to have to wait and see." She says, winking at the crowd.

"Well there you have it ladies and gentleman! The lovely Allure Medina, District One's female tribute!" Jokle yells, and the audience burst into applause.

She smiles once more and walks off the stage. I see her round the corner once more, and I smile. I don't think she notices though because she runs up to Quartz and throws her arms around him. He hugs her back awkwardly, as if he's not sure what to do, and then Jokle starts talking again.

"Now, lets see if his ego is as hard as the stone his name is from, Quartz Van Puten!" He yells, and the crowd starts screaming. He walks out confidently in a simple black tux and a golden tie. Hmm. Everyone seems to fancy gold in a way this year.

He walks to the stage with air in toy and shakes Jokle's hand before sitting.

"Welcome Quartz! How has your experience been for you so far?" Jokle asks, his voice trilling across the city.

"It's been incredible, and the training offered here is at its finest." Quartz says, shooting the crowd a sly grin.

"So you trained well, I'm guessing?" Asks Jokle, clearing loving Quartz's energy with the crowd.

"I'm standing here with a nine, obviously I did!" He conveys, smirking at the camera.

Yes, Quartz definitely knows how to play the crowd.

"What an interesting outfit choice, care to explain it?" Asks Jokle, tilting his head in supposed curiosity.

"I'm not just a black and white personality," Quartz starts, gesturing to the traditional coloring of his clothes, "There's more than meets the eye." He says, winking.

"Indeed there is." Says Jokle, secretively.

"What about your alliance this year? Do you think the careerers are a good team?" Pries Jokle, trying to avow any and everything the Capitol wants to know about our pack.

"It's great. We're all prepared, and ready to spill some blood." He says, smirking again and blinking, making sure the audience pays attention.

Then, the buzzer goes off.

"Well folks, seems that's all the time we have! Let's hear it for Quartz Van Puten, District One's male tribute!" Screams Jokle, and I realize it's my turn.

I quickly turn around and look at Jem, my eyes widening in fear. What should I say? Do I talk about us or my outfit? He looks at me and takes hold of my arm.

"Make yourself and us look good. Then you'll have done your job well." He whispers, and my eyes wander, locking with Quintus.

He smiles and mouths _Good Luck_, so I turn around and listen for my name.

"…Now moving onto our next District, lets meet our District Two female, the beautiful Cassiterite Vellumptai!" Yells Jokle, and it seems my feet freeze even though my mind is reacting. Jem lightly pushes me forward and my feet stumble in the direction of the stage. I go to lift the dress and he smacks my hands, reminding me what Amor said.

With that, I walk with my head held high out into the coruscating lights and high pitched roar of screams that is a Capitol audience. Everyone's eyes are on me as I stride onto the stage, my eyes bright and mysterious. Jokle already seems intrigued by my outfit choice, and I know that will be a bit of a conversation topic.

Before I know it I'm standing before the chair and Jokle is shaking my hand, inviting me to sit. The lights are blinding and the noise is deafening but that's alright. Right now, I'm the star of the show, and I sit up and shift my shoulders to assert that. Suddenly, as if by magic, the crowd goes quiet and then it's just Jokle and me.

"Cassiterite! Don't you look _ravishing_ this evening." Starts Jokle, "Care to explain your outfit choice?" he says, gesturing mainly to the mask above my eyes.

"Let's just say I'm trying to show you don't know me quite yet." I say to not only him, but the audience in its entirety, winking as I do so.

"Are you trying to say that you're hiding something?" Jokle asks me, playful.

"Maybe, but who knows, that's up to you to decide." I say, smirking at the cameras.

"Well, acting on that, why don't you tell us a bit about your alliance this year? Who do you think are the biggest threats?" He asks me, genuinely curious.

"Well, Quintus is a great leader, and I'm sure he'll take us far. One offers great tributes too, Allure is a great ally, and so it's Quartz." I say, and Jokle leans in for more.

"As for Jem, he's smart. He's got a good shot. Lush is a great advantage too, and then Dakota is with us, which first shocked me, but hey, power comes in numbers, does it not?" I ask, smiling mischievously.

"It seems it does, Ms. Vellumptuai!" Says Jokle, and I smile again.

"Now, care to explain the harsh treatment to the other girl trying to volunteer at your reaping? A word says you broke the poor girl's nose."

I laugh, and answer. "Poor, yes. Poor skills, poor attitude, poor tribute. That girl wouldn't have lasted a minute here, and that was my spot. I'm guess I'm saying that if you're another one to doubt me…" I say, rubbing my hands together, "The same thing will happen to you." I finish, baring my teeth into a menacing grin and squinting my eyes.

"Is there anything else you'd like to say Cassie?" Asks Jokle, which deems my time is pretty much gone.

"Looks aren't everything, and you better watch out for me." I say, looking to the side as if it's where my secrets lie.

"I'll remember that; now let's hear it for the fabulous District Two female, Cassiterite Vellumptuai!" Yells Jokle excitedly, and then the crowd joins in, screaming and chanting my name as I blow a kiss and walk off the stage.

The roar continues and I finally round the corner, returning to the others. I see Allure and Quartz are gone, probably taken by their mentors. The first person in my sights is Jem, and I run up to him with a smile.

"How did I do?" I ask him, my eyes wide.

"Lovely, now can I get 'Jem, he's smart,' in writing? It'd be nice hear every once in a while." Jem says, smirking and laughing to himself.

"Yes, of course, oh brilliant one." I say, laughing back.

Suddenly, I hear Jem's name, and he puts a smile on his face and walks out without needing so much as a _good luck._

Oh well, I yell it anyways.

After he goes I rush over to a screen and am yanked into a place by Quintus. He smiles and says, "Well done." And with that, he points at the screen and we watch Jem.

"Jem, welcome!" Says Jokle, the never fading smile still planted firmly onto his face.

"Yes, you're welcome. I'm here." Jem says, smirking to the cameras with his sarcastic wit.

Yes, Jem will go far.

Jokle laughs, and gestures for Jem to take a seat, which he does. His black suit sticks out nicely against the white seats, and I know the sponsors are watching him.

"So, Jem, a question that's been on everyone's mind; what _happened_ during your reaping?" Jokle asks, appearing utterly confused to the strange smoke bombs that went off.

"Well, I don't mean to brag or anything," starts Jem, laughing to himself, "But I set those. It was time to show my ass of a brother that he's not top dog in the district." Jem says, shaking his head with a smile.

"Top dog? So you found it was a competition?" Jokle ask, laughing along with the Capitol audience.

"Well, my imbusle brother thinks he's the best trainee the worlds ever seen, yet that idiot can't even look through some smoke and take his chance at volunteering." Jem says, smiling a wide, Cheshire cat like smile filled with sarcasm.

Now the entire audience is laughing at Jem's stupid brother.

Wow, what an idiot.

Jem definitely is smarter than people give him credit for, and I don't know whether or not that's an advantage to him either.

Keep your smarts hidden, or have everyone aware that you can think?

Well, it seems we both seem to work along the same lines.

"Now Jem, you're in the Careerer alliance, tell us, what do you think of it?" Asks Jokle, leaning in intuitively.

"Well, I think that everyone's pretty good, but Cassie and I, well, is there such thing as, _better_?" He says, smirking once again.

That gets a laugh from the audience.

"Well, what do you think of the others Jem?" Jokle asks, shaking his head with laughter.

"Well they're good too, but hey, nothing wrong with some shameless self-advertising." He says, winking at the camera.

He then starts to stand and yell, "District Two! Woo!" And pump his fist in the air.

It's like a chain reaction, and suddenly everyone is chanting with him and throwing their arms into the air. Yes, Jem has most definitely made a splash, and I honestly think sponsors are stupid if they don't put money on him as well.

It's too bad he's going to have to die.

But hey, maybe when the careerers split, I'll take Jem with me.

We're a great team after all.

Jokle is still laughing as he says, "Now let's hear it for District Two's male tribute, Jem Show!"

The roar of the crowd after his name is deafening even backstage, and Quintus says to me, "Kid really knows how to make people like him." His smile is happy, and so is mine. Jem definitely attracted a multitude of sponsors; and those sponsors are between the two of us.

Yes, Jem has done incredibly well.

Finally, he turns the corner and takes his time walking up to us.

Right as he is standing in front of me, I throw my arms around him and smile brighter than I think I have the whole time I've been here.

Jem hugs me back and them worms out of my grasp.

"Yes, I know I'm wanted. They do too, let's be fair and share Cassie." He says, winking and smirking once again.

Yes, what an image.

* * *

Finally, District Three has decided to go up and I bare my teeth at the girl as she stumbles past me.

Her eyes widen in fear behind her chunky glasses, and I lean forward on my toes, taunting her as she goes. The green of her dress flows behind her until finally she's gone around the curtain and making her way to the stage. I watch her happily, laughing at her hesitation and sudden enchantment at having a moment of fame.

"Welcome, Spark Themis!" Yells Jokle, and she grins awkwardly.

"Hi." She says, shaking his hand and sitting steadily.

"So Spark, how is life in District Three? Have any friends there?" He asks her, and she stares back.

"Yeah, I have friends. Wick and Xitlally. Xitlally's blind." She answers, her eyes showing no emotion whatsoever.

"Well, what about your family?" He asks, obviously trying to pull something out of her.

"My parents and sister are geniuses and I love them." She says, still showing nothing.

"Well what do you like to do Spark?" He asks, a bit frustrated that she refuses to do anything.

"I like to watch people." She says, and I look at her weirdly, tilting my head slightly. Quintus and Jem look at me, and I murmur, "I thought I noticed her staring at us." They nod slowly, looking back to the screen with interest.

This girl seems to have given up a big secret, and I'm honestly pretty sure that it will cost her in the long run.

Especially now that I know.

"Well Spark, you seem to be one of the only tributes who doesn't go above and beyond with their looks. Why is that?" Ask Jokle, leaning forward intuitively.

"I don't see the point in dressing up when all you will see is blood in the arena." She answers, staring back blankly. I gasp. Can she even say that here?

Jokle seems a bit strained at her word choice too, and I see him planting a fake smile across his face.

"Well, last question Spark, would you like to win?" He asks, and she simply answers,

"I hope I win. Doesn't everybody? But if I don't win, well, I can't complain. I'll be dead."

And she's right of course.

She will be dead.

Finally, Jokle bids her farewell, and she walks off the stage solemnly. I watch her go by me once more as she returns to her mentor, and I don't say anything this time. But that's because at that moment, I see Allure, alone, and I decide it's time to step up for my actions.

I mumble to Quintus and Jem that I'll be back, and they nod, Quintus winking. I walk away and head towards the blonde, and I don't think she sees me, as she's facing another direction, watching the boy from Three, Wyatt Kipper. He isn't too bright, and if I miss something big with him, the others will surely fill me in.

I finally reach her and she turns at the sound of my heels tapping. Her face contorts into discomfort, and I look down as I ask if I can talk to her.

"Well, I told Quartz I would wait-" She starts to say, but I cut her off my sighing and dragging her by the arm anyways.

I take her back to the room Quintus had shown me, and she follows me, not seeming to know what else to do. Finally, we're in the room and I turn and look at her, her confused eyes meeting mine.

"Look, I came here to tell you that umm, I'm sorry. I thought you would be a total bitch and I was completely wrong about you. I kept thinking that maybe you were just hiding it but you weren't, and I treated you like dirt anyways. I'm sure you hate me, and that's okay. I'd hate you too if you'd treated me like that." I tell her, my eyes wandering.

She looks at me, astonished, and then her eyes meet mine.

"Cassie, I don't hate you." She says calmly.

"What?" I ask her, and now I'm surprised. I threw an axe at this girl for pete sake, and I would have killed her if she hadn't of been smart enough to duck. She's been the mature one around here while I've sat and toyed with her like the smaller kids in the training academy. She should hate me, or dislike me greatly at least.

"I said, I don't hate you." She repeats, still calm.

"How can you not hate me Allure? I almost killed you, or are you forgetting that?" I burst out at her.

She looks somewhat surprised, but continues to talk.

"Cassie, you did what a typical careerer does. You thought I would be a blonde bitch, and I'm not surprised. I mean, we had Silver last year, and now look at her. You probably would have been right again if I hadn't volunteered, but I did, so hey, change in plans. I'm not a whore, I'm not a bitch, and just because I'm blonde means nothing about what I can do." She says, speaking somewhat loudly.

I stare back. Who knew she spoke up for herself.

"Well then, I'm sorry I misjudged you. You really _aren't,_ what I was expecting, Allure." I say, chuckling at the end.

"I forgive you Cassie." She says, and she smiles lightly.

I smile back at her, a genuine one, and then I remember what's going on.

"Well, we better get back to the interviews. Lush and Quintus are up next." I say, starting to move towards the door.

We walk out, and when we're down the hall and almost backstage again, Allure says,

"You aren't what I was expecting either Cassie." And with that, she walks back to where she was, to an anxious Quartz and apology in tow.

I stand once again with Jem, and he asks, "What was that? Are you, _smiling? _At Allure? I don't believe it." He smirks again, and I smirk back.

"Things change, Jem. I think our alliance is going to go a lot further now." I tell him, and he nods sheepishly.

* * *

Then, the time has arrived for just about our final allies, aside from Dakota that is, to go on. Lush looks prepared, though somewhat uneasy, but Quintus looks as ready as ever, a menacing smile spread across his features. Finally, Lush's name is called over the speakers and the crowd burst out. Quintus gives her a bit of a shove and she turns back and glares.

"Just wanted to make sure you were going." He says innocently, chuckling as he turns away. She makes her way onto the stage, her pink and black dress swishing before her knees. She looks pretty, but not Allure pretty.

The audience roars as it does with any careerer, and Lush flashes them bright white smiles. Jokle reaches out his hand, kissing her palm as she giggles and sits down.

"Ms. Thistle, welcome!" Jokle says playfully, batting at her curly hair.

She winks at the audience and leans in, her eyes sparkling.

"So Lush, how is your visit to the Capitol so far?" Jokle asks, "Is it anything you expected it to be?"

"Well, no honestly, it hasn't. It's been better." She says, her laugh tinkling.

"Really? What's been so good? Aside from that nine of course, care to tell us about that?" Jokle asks, and I remember my own training. It's so hard to try and impress someone, yet still keep them in the dark. That's because my eight was intentional. I need to remain inconspicuous to the others, so I hid my talents from the Gamemakers as well. There'll be knives no matter what, so why not just surprise them?

I go back to listening to Lush.

"…and not to mention the fact that the training here is incredible; nothing like what we have back home." She says, and my eyes wander. Nothing about Lush's interview is really sticking out to me, and though she's nice and a good ally, I'm not sure how to break it to her that she'll be the only one against Allure now.

Whoops, things happen Lush. Sorry.

I look to Jem who seems somewhat bored, and he covers his hand with his mouth as he yawns. No kidding. Is this interview almost over?

"Well what do you think of your allies Lush?" I hear Jokle ask, and suddenly this conversation is interesting again.

"Well, District One is good, they know how to get things done, same with Two. Me and Quintus love being in an alliance with them. As for Dakota, we'll have to see, now won't we?" She says, winking with suspicion.

Then her buzzer rings.

"Well everyone, let's have a round of applause for our District Four female tribute, Lush Thistle!" Jokle yells, and the audience joins in.

She sashays off the stage and rounds the corner, walking straight to us.

"Well, well, well," Quintus starts, "You didn't fall off the stage. Such a shame; would have been great for publicity." He says, winking at her sarcastically. I can't help it, I laugh, and Lush turns to me, her face sunken.

"I'm sorry, it's just I didn't think it would be you of all people, more likely Dakota if anyone. _Oh no, my hair won't stay up._" I say, mimicking Dakota's actions from training. The others laugh, and I see the redhead turn at the sound of her name.

Finally, Quintus hears his name, and puts his arms in front of him, moving everyone out of his way.

He flicks Jem in the head and watches him scowl as he walks forward, stepping over Lush's outstretched foot and twisting my hair as he goes.

He walks up to the stage in what he treats as his premier outfit. He struts out as if he's already won, rather than being realistic and considering everyone around him. Oh well. He's Quintus; and no one's going to challenge him about it.

"Quintus Xavier Preatorian! The one-and-only, welcome!" Says Jokle, and Quintus bows sarcastically.

"Hey, that's my bit." I hear Jem whisper, and I laugh. He smiles back snarkily.

"So, Quintus! Head of the careerers! How are you taking to that title?" Ask Jokle, narrowing his eyes with a creepy smile.

"I think I'll be taking it, and trading it in for the title of victor." He says proudly, raising his eyebrows with a smirk.

The audience laughs, as does Jem.

"Funny, he thinks _he's _winning. Tsk tsk. Such a shame." Says Jem, shaking his head with laughter, which I join in on.

"So what do you think of your fellow allies then Quintus?" Asks Jokle, and I can tell he wants actual answers from the leader himself.

"Well, where to start?" Says Quintus, drumming his fingers along the chair.

"Okay. So, District One, what can I say. Like everything they make, they are quite luxurious, if I do say so myself. Allure and Quartz are great allies, and it's stupid not to watch out for them." He says, and I see Quartz grinning as Allure squeals from her corner by the hallway.

Quintus really knows how to cover everybody.

"What about District Two? And a bird has told me you have a thing for Ms. Vellumptuai." Says Jokle, winking, and I see a picture of myself from the chariots appear on screen momentarily. I swallow. What's he going to say?

Jem laughs. "Poor Cassie, so undecided about her love life." He smirks, and I swat at him with my hand. It makes him laugh even more when I miss him.

"Well, Jem, as you obviously know, is hilarious. He's smart, smarter than I give him credit for." Quintus answers, and then actually leans over his chair and yells, "Yeah, yeah Jem. Get over yourself."

The audience burst out laughing, along with everyone backstage. Except Jem of course.

"He thinks he's so funny. Who does he think he is? Me?" He asks, mimicking Quintus' bow.

"And he can't even bow correctly. What, a, _shame!_" He adds, and I crack up.

"What about Cassiterite?" Jokle asks, leaning in along with the audience.

"Well, Cassie, yes. Is something different. I don't think I've ever met someone who can kill someone in so many ways. Aside from myself of course." He says, smirking.

Really? Ever met?

"Is it true you have a thing for the beauty?" Asks Jokle, and Quintus doesn't really say anything. He doesn't confirm it, and he doesn't deny it. Are we something? We don't have a label, at least not that I know of. No, he just leaves it hanging, and continues to talk.

"Let's just say she's like a dangerous addiction." He answers, and I'm taken aback.

Quintus finds me dangerous, and an addiction?

What?

Jem looks at me seriously, and his eyes are asking me the question he won't.

"What are you two?"

Or maybe he will.

I shrug, and turn away strangely. What _are_ we?

I didn't hear the rest of his interview, and I hear Jokle say some last words.

"…and that's all the time we have. Let's have it for our District Four male tribute, Quintus Xavier Praetorian!" The audience roars and he leaves, winking and laughing as he goes.

I see him round the corner and walk back over to us, and suddenly all the careers group up, besides Dakota. We form a semi-circle of unity, Quintus to my right, Jem and Quartz in front of me, and a shy Allure to my left.

"Everyone did great. I can't even imagine the sponsors we pulled in." Quintus says, his arm brushing against mine as he talks with his hands.

Quartz gives a cracked smile, and Jem huffs, and then says, "Well, I personally think I did most of the work, but feel free to take some credit." He smirks and chuckles, looking around, and this time it's Quartz who smacks him in the head.

He really did have it coming.

"If you want, you can stay at mine tonight." Says Quintus, winking, and then wandering off somewhere else.

I look at Allure and smile lightly, and she returns it. I see Lush give me a confused look, but I don't care. I need to grow up a bit and get to know people before I judge them.

For all I know, her hairs naturally brown.

But by apologizing to Allure, I've let her somewhat inside my limits of trust. She's broken down my boundaries and forced her way inside, and now that she's there, there's no way to get her out. She'll simply burrow down if I don't watch how close we are. I already broke Amor's last rule, _don't trust __anyone. _But if I can't even keep out a girl I thought I hated, how can I keep up with the others? And more than that, if I trust someone...

How am I supposed to live myself?


	30. Illusion and Dreams

**A/N- **An actual update on a scheduled day straight after another update! :OOO This hasn't happened for a while! Unfortunately the next chapter probably won't be updated on Tuesday so I thought I should get this chapter to you all :D Fourteen is now in the process of being sorted out so soon everything should be running smoothly! Thanks for being patient!

* * *

**Magic Ayerzuela, District Eight Male**

**Interviews, Districts 5-8**

_**Blue Eyes Arch Angel**_

* * *

_**'It doesn't solve a thing to dress it in a pretty gown'**_

* * *

Two years ago I made a perfect dress.

The colour had been my favourite-a luscious deep shade of blue. The flowing bottom hem had reached just below the knees, so as to give to wearer modesty but to allow some liberty for the legs, yet was still mildly alluring. The hem of the neck was lined with the finest silver gems I could scrape up in our miserable district. There were sleeves, though they were thin enough that they barely hung on the shoulders but kept it all in place. The pattern was simplistic yet pure. The material, a fine silk that left behind the softest touch.

Shawvelly had been the first one the model it for me. I had chosen her specifically because of her big, bright blue eyes that accented the dress. Both she and the dress were so beautiful. That dress had somewhat steeled both my love of fashion and my confidence. Back then I only used to stutter a little.

Look at me now.

I'm having to lean against the wall just keep my frail body stood up for so long. Every few minutes or so I blank for a few seconds and forget where I am, but then I'm reminded by the swift, swishing fabrics that flow towards the stage. Of course, I then remember, I'm at the interviews. Chariots and training are all done and dusted, and dear Lord were they a disaster! Having to bare my chest and cover myself with nothing more than a silk pair of shorts and a pair of overly large angel wings which knocked at my head at every little bump. Embarrassing to say the least (considering I'm not the most muscled boy you could meet). I must have tripped over at least three times during training as well, which did not help my reputation.

No wait, I tripped four times. Some career tripped me up the fourth. To them I must be nothing more than dead meat.

Ugh, dead meat. I'm so hungry…I've never been hungrier, but yet I'm too sick to eat. Not that I can eat at a time like this. Not that I have been able to eat much here anyway; Dakota gets all the good food.

Damn bitch…

Oh dear, I hope I didn't say that out loud! Dakota's in front of me, checking out her reflection in the shiny spots in the wall. I swear she's like a narcissistic magpie. If I could I'd kick her. Only if I could, but my legs are locked in place. Why the hell is everyone so calm about this? No-one seems to care that it's time to show our faces off to the people.

The people…no wonder I've been fearing this moment. My biggest fear has always been people. To have every single eye on you, every single one of them judging me. Going through this kind of thing in normal life, maybe I've just been paranoid, but here it's for real. Every single second spent in the capitol I've had eyes locked on my movements.

Hmm, well maybe not all. After all I'm hardly the most interesting person. Frail body, can barely say a word and a wounded ankle. Well, not so much wounded as it was. I twirl my foot for a second. The pain has been severely reduced and running is no longer an impossible task (whether I can reach the high speeds I used to is still questionable). I haven't even made any allies, but I really don't help myself in that area. I did get an offer from the nice pair from nine at lunch, but I freaked out and ducked under the table. Not my best moment but it's not one of my worst either strangely enough.

"That was Quintus everybody!"

Huh? Oh, the career lot must be done then. Quintus is sauntering so elegantly by, sneering at a few of the others as he does so. He must have racked up enough of a threat against them already but he still insists on being scary. He must have no cares in the world, which makes me wonder just how much of their soul those trainers drive out back home. Soulless monsters. I mustn't make eye contact; he won't get to me.

Just look down, keep looking.

Footsteps are shuffling closer. Soft ones.

Keep looking down.

Before I know it I'm met with two bright orbs of blue and instantly I recoil and slam into the wall. He just laughs and continues on his way. The rest of the tributes can't even focus on the threat of Quintus because their laughter is all directed towards me! Most are laughing, and from a distance I think I hear the careers laughing too from back somewhere (or maybe it's all in my mind, who knows? I am paranoid after all). Nasty, condescending laughter. They're all just glad to have someone else that's suffering, and right now I'm the one suffering the worst. I can't even leave to get away from this; a peacekeeper will just drag me back to my place in line. For some stupid reason I look to Dakota to try and gain some sympathy. After all, she is my district partner so she and I must have developed some sort of bond by now, right?

Wrong. As expected the bitch is laughing too, in that high pitched irritating way she did when we first met. No surprises there, not now that she's in league with him, and the rest of them. Right now I just want to crawl into a deep dark hole and die. It's useless. I've done nothing to prove myself; the best I've done is paint a big fat target on my head for everyone else to see. Come the countdown I'll probably fall off my pedestal first and be blown to pieces. They'll probably laugh then too.

_Oh look! Magic the Klutz tripped up again!_

_Aww damn it, he was my kill!_

_Who cares, ignore him and focus of the more important targets._

Sigh, story of my life.

"You saw her light up the chariots, now she'll light up the stage-it's the radiant Rima Vertes!"

Everyone's focus is diverted back to the interviews again. Good, I need some time to recollect myself. Who am I kidding, I'll never return to a normal state of calmness after this experience. I'll die first.

Rima seems to have made her way on stage quickly enough. Mostly likely she wants to get this over and done with quickly. She looks so gorgeous, adorned with a spaghetti strapped red dress falling to her knees, and elaborate pinned up hairstyle with only little makeup that truly let's her 'radiance' shine through. It's so unlike the cold, withdrawn girl that gave me nasty looks during training. She takes time to sit herself down, hands on her knees and a smile spread across her dainty face. A few of the women 'aww' and 'sigh'.

"So Rima, you're certainly looking perky today" Jokle announces.

"Well, I'm just loving my pretty new dress!" she replies, giggles following up. Cue the 'awws' and 'sighs' again.

"Well, you look pretty yourself, doesn't she folks?"

Cheers ensue immediately. Rima smiles sweetly and giggles.

"Aww you're too kind"

"Alright then, so how has your time been in the capitol?" he asks her softly.

"Oh it's been wonderful! My room is so beautifully decorated, the meals are delicious and the people here have been so kind!" she gushes out almost immediately. But just for a second there, I see a small glint in her eyes. A small glint that looks as though she doesn't believe her own words.

"And how about outside of your room?"

She falters for a bit but the smile returns. Why is she trying so hard?

"That's been okay, but…"

Jokle shifts a little closer and puts on an empathetic (or sympathetic?) face.

"But…?"

"I guess…I'm a little sad over my score" Rima mutters, shuffling her feet with eyes directed at the floor.

And of course. She's playing up the sympathy act. For someone young like her that's probably a smart way to go about it.

"Ah yes, a five" Jokle sighs "well, you listen to me Rima. That score does not matter, remember that you're strong and I'm sure you'll be fine, you can do this!

There's that little glint again. This time it's not disbelieving; quite the opposite actually.

"And if she has trouble I'm we can all help her out, can't we folks!"

Screams of 'yes' echo down to the back of the hall and back. That's not comforting. Not at all. Just how many people are there?

And again the buzzer rings, to which Rima stands up and delicately saunters her way back.

There's barely a break before Jokle stands back up again and announces:

"Please welcome ladies and gentleman the charming Ryan Jenkins!"

Ryan appears very suddenly on stage in a flash of shining silver, so quickly even that Jokle is a little startled. The audience however are cheering the whole time. He sits down on the chair without a word leg crossed and hands placed together on his knee, back straight and poised. After a second Jokle proceeds to do the same.

"What an exquisite outfit you've got on there, matches that beautifully crafted on your wrist"

Ryan warmly smiles at Jokle, fiddling with the bracelet a little.

"Why yes, I believe that's the look my stylist was aiming for, which I do like myself"

Ryan's right, it is a beautiful suit.

"Aside from the kind treatment from your stylist, how have everyone treated you?"

"Perfectly fine"

"Even the training staff?"

"Most helpful?"

"Really? Have they helped you develop a working strategy yet"

Ryan does not seem to answer straight away. Clever move. A smirk begins to form on his face and he taps his nose.

"Well, I may have tricks, I may have plans. Maybe you'll just need to wait and see" he shoots back at Jokle, but still with the utmost respect. I'm beginning to admire his confidence.

"Alright then, so how about your normal life? You've enjoyed the capitol lifestyle but how about back home? Anyone you miss?" He utters with a content face. Ryan's does not seem to be quite so content however. This question seems to have shocked him somehow. He is definitely hiding something. Only question is will he keep it hidden? There are a few audience members visible in the front seats whose faces have twisted to (false?) concern. A few seconds pass but he finally comes back with an answer.

"Oh, I'm sorry! That's all fine but I was just intrigued by who did your hair? It truly suits you"

Nice move Ryan. Really. There's no need to tell these uncaring people your troubles anyway. There's no need to show your weaknesses. Keep the strength and respect you still have.

Jokle is looking very flattered but before he can sputter an answer the buzzer rings back through the hallway.

"Well, it's a shame that was cut short but I hope you all enjoyed seeing district five's Ryan Jenkins!"

Once Ryan leaves the loud cheers and the stage Jokle soon begins to announce the next tribute.

"Now for district six's little sweetheart, Greylyn Conway!"

"W-wow!"

I don't mean to speak but she looks so adorable! Not just adorable but….innocent. At least I feel that's what her stylist must have been aiming for because the young Greylyn has been clothed in a white lace dress and light makeup. A green ribbon holds the hair out of her eyes and matches her green pumps. Like with Rima many of the audience members 'aww' over her sheer cuteness. The dress wraps perfectly around her legs as she sits down. Jokle shakes her hands and she sits back, pauses, and then arches her back up slightly so her posture is perfect. She actually makes it look comfortable.

"Wow, it's so exciting to have the mayor's daughter with us"

She sits up straight before answering.

"Well, I feel excited to be here with you Jokle" she responds so politely, but that still doesn't mask the childlike tone of her voice. How sad.

"How have the people here been treating you? Much like home? Maybe better or even worse?" Jokle bombards at Greylyn.

"Well, it's difficult to say, how do the people here usually treat you?" she responds. Jokle is a little stunned but waves it of easily.

"Well, you can imagine very well. After all I have a high ranking job, much like your father"

There's a pause where Jokle is obviously waiting to see if Greylyn has a response. Seeing that she doesn't he coughs and continues.

"How are you mother and father? Still living the good life back in district six?"

Her fingers twitch. She's slightly nervous, yet no-one else notices.

"Very nice, you should visit sometime. Would you like that?"

A strange question and slightly off topic. Maybe that's what she is aiming for. Jokle laughs a little but grins.

"Tell you what dear, if you can soldier on and win the games I promise I will visit as a congratulations gift"

She nods and smiles.

"Do you think you can win?" He asks, shifting closer. That's a little awkward but she doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. If that were me I'd be freaking out intensely by now. Just looking at him makes my legs quiver. I can't believe a twelve year old is taking this more calmly than I am.

"Well, what do you think?" she asks, but not rudely. Jokle grins widely at her response.

"I think you'll be just fine"

And there rings the buzzer once again. Greylyn is lifted out of her seat by Jokle's hand, hair bobbing and dress swishing.

"District six's Greylyn everybody!"

She gives a little courtesy to the crowd which earns a few more cheer and whistles. As she walks by me all I can focus on is her pure white dress. My favourite colour. It's so calming. Makes me forget about my stupid clumsy feet.

"Can he rise from the ashes? Please welcome Phoenix Witter!"

Jokle's obnoxiously loud voice breaks me back out of my trance. Once I come to I see Phoenix awkwardly stumbling on stage, fiddling with the bow tie and brushing off any dust on his lush burgundy suit. He flops down into the chair and Jokle joins him. He flashes a smile to try and relax him, but Phoenix still seems rather uncomfortable. He's such a contrast to his district partner.

"H-hi" he mutters, obviously trying to make conversation. His eyes are firmly directed upwards, flicking back between Jokle and the crowd. Another blatant attempt, but this time to hide weakness. I wonder if the careers have picked up on this? I would not be surprised.

"You seem a little tense Phoenix, has anything during your time here been bothering you"

His head snaps back to Jokle.

"No, nothing. I'm just…anticipating my moves for the arena, my plan and all that…yeah" he spills out rather rapidly, his arms a bit jerky whilst he does so. Poor boy; I can feel his pain.

"Your moves? Do you have something interesting planned then?" Jokle says, obviously trying to hide a few chuckles as he does so. It seems to me that he's not taking Phoenix seriously. It seems some of the audience feel the same way, smiles twitching badly.

Phoenix clenches his fists and holds them close to his chest.

"Yes! Great moves! Powerful moves! The other tributes won't know what's hit them!"

I'm not sure he knows the meaning of 'less is more'. He's trying far too hard to be serious and strong but in all honestly he just looks silly. At least the other tributes are laughing at him now and not me.

"Even those oh so great tributes like Cassiterite and Quintus won't be able to stop me!"

Huge mistake. Maybe he should be worrying about dying first and not me. Jokle's still laughing his head off but he wipes away the tears so he can continue.

"Well at least you seem confident enough; I guess that's a good sign!"

"Y-yeah!" Phoenix stutters, head shaking nervously.

"I bet your family is so proud of you right now!"

Phoenix nearly jumps out of his seat at this comment. Clearly not a topic he wishes to discuss because his only a response is a nod of the head before the buzzer rings. He immediately shoots out of his seat and awkwardly wanders back off stage.

"Um, Phoenix everyone!"

As he paces past the rest of us I almost feel sorry for him. But then again, he was also laughing at me earlier so he's just another spiteful person that shouldn't have pity taken on them.

"Now for the for district seven's daring little Kilea Fairbane"

She's…gorgeous. She's dressed entirely in green (a reflection of the nature that adorns district seven? If so then very clever). Her ball gown dress is a pale shade of green with matching but sparkling emerald heels. Peridot adorns her ears and the curve of her neck. Just so these details don't go to waste, her hair is piled neatly atop her head, held in place with an encrusted headband. It's a breath-taking piece. Almost like that dress I sold to…wait I sold it to Dakota!? It would've looked so much better on Kilea.

She sits down so carefully on the chair so as not to crease the dress. Her hands are resting on one another though they constantly keep moving and twiddling. Somehow I can already imagine what Jokle is going to say to her first.

'_So, a volunteer from district seven? How unusual'_

"So, a volunteer from district seven? How unusual"

And thus I am a mindreader. Sigh, if only.

Kilea keeps a sweet face, but isn't letting anything on with it.

"So do tell Kilea, what are your reasons for bravely volunteering?"

Much of the audience are literally on the edge of their seats. She keeps up her calm face but keeps twiddling her fingers, which to me seems like a nervous habit.

"Since you asked nicely I will explain. My friends and I back home do love to have a bit of fun. Truth and Dare is one of our favourite games to play. It was Johnny's turn and well…his dare was to volunteer"

What a stupid thing to do! This is exactly the reason not to trust other people. Why would you trust someone who would suggest sending you away to your death? Jokle does not seem to feel the same way because he's riling the crowds into masses of cheers.

"Isn't that incredible folks? A true act of bravery and strength I'd say!"

She simply blushes at his comment and smiles.

"Oh thank you"

"I must ask you though, this Johnny boy-did you happen to go through with his dare because you like him?" Jokle asks of her coyly. She immediately blushes and shakes her head, all the while her hands still twiddling.

"Aww how cute. So Kilea, aside from this extraordinary determination do you feel you now have the skills you need to win these games!"

"Of course I do! I don't want to underestimated by anyone. Don't think I didn't volunteer without a second thought!"

The cheers of the crowd continue on until the buzzer rings. Kilea gets up quickly but flashes a sweet smile before making her way back, not giving Jokle a chance to say anymore. For once I want to talk. I want to compliment her in that dress. The clickety clack of her heels are coming down the hallway. If I don't speak now she'll be gone.

"Y-you're d-d-dress is b-beautiful"

The clacking stops. Right next to me. I don't look her in the eyes but a soft voice answers.

"Thank you um…Magic is it?"

I nod, still not looking up to her.

"Well, I love your suit too" is all I hear. No sarcasm. Just honesty laced her voice. Could it be…a light in this dark place?

Sadly by the time I look up she's already gone and Jokle has begun announcing the next tribute.

"Now please welcome on stage district seven's Tyrion Pond!"

Here's a little pick-me-up for now I guess. He may be dressed up elegantly-A black tuxedo with violet stripes, black bow tie, squeaky clean black shoes and glossed black hair-but nothing hides the Tyrion that I've seen. He's a little rough around the edges, and rather muscled but with his long dark hair, pale skin and handsome faces he's almost irresistible to both girls and guys. If I didn't have this stupid stutter I'd have talked to him a long time ago; I wouldn't have minded an ally like him. Or his partner Kilea for that matter. Tyrion takes his place but he definitely doesn't look comfortable. For one his feet are shifting a lot, much like Kilea shifted her hands and he keeps blinking as well. I understand exactly how he feels.

Jokle opens his mouth to speak but somehow Tyrion beats him to it.

"N-nice weatha, uh weather you have here. Back home i-it usually just rains, here it snows-indoors! What's up with that?" he manages to sputter. I can't even look it's that awkward. It sounds like that was his failed attempt at a joke. Three or four of the of the audience members chuckle weakly though I think it's more out of pity than humour. Jokle thankfully breaks the awkward silence for all of us (thankfully).

"So it rains a lot back home then? It must be wonderful to get away from that for a while"

"Y-yeah, at least it's warm and sunny here, less trees to chop" A blush creeps up his cheeks, I'd say out of embarrassment. I should know.

"So you were a lumberjack then? Does it make for a good living?"

"Well, sort of. It gets you by day after day. It's actually kind of nice not to have to work actually" Tyrion says, his tone more relaxed than it was. His eyes are still avoiding the lights and his feet are continuing to shuffle.

"Sounds great enough, doesn't beat interviewing though!" Jokle comments arrogantly.

"Heh, maybe I should get that job, I might learn to be funny then"

A few more people actually laugh this time. Jokle too.

"No, I think physical labour suits you better. After all look at those muscles!" Jokle announces, grabbing Tyrion's arm and yanking it into the air. He takes a hint and stands up, then flexes them to the crowd. There's a massive roar of cheers and whistles from ladies (they're not the only ones getting a good view though). Tyrion shortly sits back down and relaxes into the chair.

"With muscles like that you must attract the ladies back home! Tell me do you have anyone back home?"

The calm look on his faces suddenly fades. Tyrion goes back to shifting his feet.

"Well, there's no girl but there is one person back at home" He mumbles. He's not suggesting what I think he's suggesting…

"Oh, who?"

"Just somebody"

The timing is well placed as the buzzer rings.

"Well then, never mind that. Let us bid farewell to Tyrion!"

He looks to the ground as he leaves. I wish I could comfort him. I wish I could talk to him like Kilea, but I've never been able to talk to boys as easily as girls. So I just let him slink by sadly.

OUCH!

Dakota just kicked me in the ankle!

What the freaking hell!?

"Watch how a professional does it, bitch" she shoots at me. She's calling me a bitch?

"You all know her sister but now she takes the spotlight, please welcome Dakota Phillips!"

She takes a deep breath and relxes her shoulder before elegantly gliding on stage slowly, letting her red high heels tap in time. I hate her with a passion but she is nearly beautiful. Our stylist went all out on her. I though Kilea's outfit was gorgeous but this tops it. Her dress definitely goes with the 'sexy' them. It's backless and sleeveless and tight fitting which really compliments her ample figure. It's dark red but somewhat translucent, and I know I'm not the only male that's got their eyes on her right now. My only criticism is that her face is absolutely coated in makeup. For once I'd like to see her face. Her hair is in a neat tied up bun but with a rogue little hair fallen out of place. It's funny; I swear our stylist was far too obsessed with neat hair. Was the rogue hair her own choice?

Jokle stand up and extends his hand to help her to her seat. She happily seems to take it and giggles.

"Oh you boys!"

"Just being a gentleman, ma'am" He says, bowing in her presence. It's sickening to watch.

"My my Dakota, your dress is just lovely! Your stylist must have known exactly what to do with you".

Pervert.

"Well, I guess you could say I helped a little?" she remarks almost coyly, winking at the interviewer. Is there anything she won't do?

"Did you ever have any outfits this nice back in district eight?"

"Well, there was this one dress, it was green with an open back like this one" she comments, her delicate finger resting on her chin in though.

That was my dress.

"But I can't remember where I got it!" she exclaims with a high pitched squeal.

I feel like someone I;ve just fallen off my pedestal. I'm not going to blow up am I?

Looking around, no. Nope. I'm still here.

"Well, what a shame. Asides from your beauty let's discuss your other talents. A six is an interesting score, how did you manage it?" Dakota giggles and (slowly) crosses her leg over the other.

"Well, I have my 'ways'" she says with another wink.

"I imagine so" Jokle remarks, his eyes trailing over to her. Honestly…

"I imagine you mustn't be short of allies"

"Who wouldn't want to ally with me?" Dakota exclaims sweetly, putting her finger to her lips innocently. The crowd engages in cheers once again.

"A beautiful girl like you, did you have anyone back home?"

I saw that. Her eyes flicked. That's her weak point; I've heard she slept around back home so any talk of 'real love' probably hammers his confidence.

But then she regains her smirk.

"Well, I'll leave that thought with you"

Jokle looks a little flushed. The buzzer plays out again.

"What a shame folks, but for now we'll have to say goodbye to the remarkable beauty that is Dakota Phillips!"

And that's it. Flawless.

Even the way she glides seamlessly by is enchanting. It'll be a miracle if anyone can surpass her perfect acting, let alone myself. But it looks like I'll have to try. This is my very last chance to make a good name for myself lest I end up a splat of blood on the pedestal.

I've got to try.

Alright deep breaths, slowly. My chest is rising and falling gently enough. Good, I'm in a calm state. Jokle is standing up. The peacekeepers are at the ready, and the audience are on the edge of their seats.

"Now welcome on stage district eight's own fashion fanatic, Magic Ayerzuela!"

.

..

…

Everyone's staring at me again. I'm not moving. I refuse to budge. I can hear Jokle coughing on stage and announcing again:

"Um, district eight's very own Magic!"

But it's no more than an echo. There's too noise drowning it all out. I can't do this, I just can't.

Something roughly breaks my blank state as a pain grips my arm and shoves me forward. I'm about the scream, I try to pull back but in a flash the scenery changes to a lush, elegant setting. Two golden velvet chairs are just slightly across from me; one of them is occupied. It seems very gorgeous, however as I turn my head to my side it seems I've met my worst nightmare.

Eyes. So many eyes. They're all looking straight at me. Straight at my soul.

So many…hundreds, thousands, millions with the cameras.

Oh god. Please oh please just get me away from here. Anywhere, just kill me now. I can't handle this, I just can't. My breathing is picking up rapidly. I'll hyperventilate if I don't stop. Please let me be…

"Aww, isn't that cute folks? He's a bit shy"

The massive audience start awing over me and cheering. I hate them all but…they find me cute. Cute…cute tributes sometimes get sponsors.

Jokle is gesturing me to come over. That's right, my interview. Guess I know what angle I'll be playing up. I've got to be brave now. I've got to calm down and do this. Right, just a few steps, that's all it takes. Lord, my knees are buckling so badly but slowly I get there and collapse onto the soft couch. Beside me Jokle shifts so he's facing me. I'm still looking at my feet however; they're the only things in the world right now that aren't scary. Though they should be, after all they're the ones that could cause me to trip up. Sigh, I'd better look at him.

Big mistake. His hair is green! Bright green! And his skin, so pale like a ghost! Eyes a weird shade of purple and markings that are almost clown like! Ugh, and not to mention HIS HIDEOUS FASHION SENSE! Ruffles and lace! Oh I can't handle this…

"So Magic, how are you finding the capitol?"

"Y-you're hair i-is h-hideous"

Trip. Splat. Bang. Dead.

I've really done it now; I've just insulted the interviewer! Who wants to sponsor a rude boy like that! I'd be surprised if Jokle even wants to continue.

…Well that's if he'd stop laughing.

Laughing? Why?

"Oh Magic, I should have expected that from you!"

I'm baffled. I truly am. All I can manage is a

"W-wha?"

He grins.

"I've been talking to your stylist, he's been telling me about you and your fashion criticisms. So you're quite the little fashionista then?"

He's really working with me here. He's actually talking about one of the few things I'm comfortable with.

"H-huh? Oh, y-yes, I'm a f-fashion d-d-designer m-myself. I-I sell c-clothes b-b-back home"

I know I'm still stuttering but I'm trying my hardest now to be as lucid as possible. It's strange; somehow I feel the stuttering is just from habit now.

"Interesting, did you make a lot of money out of it?"

"Y-yes, I e-even sold one t-t-to Dakota"

She's going to kill me for that one.

"a-after all I had f-family and f-friends to care for"

He smiles warmly at me but then puts on some sort of sympathetic face. He moves a tad closer. What is he aiming at here?

"You must worried about them right now, without you running your little business back home"

I never thought about that. I thought about Shawvelly crying. I thought about my ill parents briefly. I thought about Islera's innocence and Chantelle's good mannered nature.

I never thought about if they'd suffer. If I'm not there what will happen? Before I never considered myself to the utmost importance. That's why I have these scars. Each one a mark of pain inflicted by others. Was I really that important to them?

If I'm not there, who will care for my parents? I'm their only child and the only one that brings back food. If I'm not there will they die?

And what about the girls. Islera has a huge family yet she's never known anyone that's been reaped (and killed). She's too innocent; if I die will she be bereaved of that? Broken down forever?

Same with Chantelle. Maybe not quite the same, as she lost her brother only 3 years ago, but after having rebuilt herself back up from that will she just lose it all completely?

Shawvelly…I've been pondering her much these past few days. The tears…she was the only one who cried. She cared much more than I thought. Just maybe…did she love me? Strong Shaw with the soul of steel? Shaw with the big blue eyes, long hair, perfectly built body…

Oh god I think I'm in love.

"Magic?"

ACK! Everything flashes back to reality. Oh right, Jokle is awaiting an answer.

Will they be okay?

"Th-they won't h-have t-to suffer f-f-for long"

He looks intrigued. Wonderful.

"And why is that?"

"B-because I'm going to win!"

The cheers are like music to my ears. All of them, they love me. Jokle is just roaring them on too. I didn't even mean to say that; it just slipped out. What a brilliant mistake. Screw dying in the bloodbath; death will not claim me just yet.

Sigh, it's all amazing but it's still not something I can easily handle so I just shrink back into the comfortable chair and look down, my cheeks burning brightly. After a couple of minutes Jokle quietens them down with a simple flourish of his hand and turns back to me. I snap my head up but it must be evident I'm still blushing.

"Such confidence! My my, you have really changed from the boy I watched in the reaping, do you have any last words before we unfortunately have to let you go?"

It's true. I have changed.

For the better.

"Y-yes, t-to the tributes"

"Oh, a challenge?"

I smile sweetly and direct my face so my eyes are locked on the cameras.

"Y-yes, i-if they want me, th-they'll have to c-catch me first!"

Another chorus of cheers. A buzzer rings over the incessant noise, which I take as my cue to stand.

"Once again folks, the fighting fashionista-Magic Ayerzuela"

Hmm, I quite like that title. I need no cue to tell me it's time to leave the stage, almost running as I do so. The elegance fades back to the clean white walls of the hallway. The once laughing faces of my peers no longer see me as a bloodbath (I hope, at least they don't look as amused). Tabitha and Nile are clapping. Clapping!

"That was totally hardcore man!" Nile yells (far too loudly) in my ear, wrapping an arm round my shoulder "Come on, we're gonna celebrate-Tabs! Get the drinks!"

I'm not really a fan of alcohol but I guess today will be an exception.

Though in fairness, this whole day has been exceptional.

* * *

'_It's whatever makes you see, makes you believe_

_And forget about the premonition you need to conceive'_

_~Illusion And Dreams by Poets Of The Fall~_


	31. Paint the Town Black

**A/N- **Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd we're back! This one is written from another author so that's why there was a little gap because we had to give Immy a chance, she's really great for stepping up like a lot of other authors have so yeah THANK YOU IMMY! The next few chapters you'll notice that some have been skipped out if you read the forum because I can't get everyone to start writing chapters that aren't their's but we do have a few more left until the Games. It's getting close! :D

* * *

**Adalia Davenport, District Ten Female**

**Interviews, Districts 9-12**

**_Written by ImmyRose, submitted by Fluffy Bunnies Are So Cute_**

* * *

"Aw, aren't you just precious? You're adorable!" My stylist, whose name I had not bothered to commit to memory, coos, clasping her hands as she admires me.

Well, if I was honest - which I had no reason not to be - she was admiring the work of 'genius' she had stuffed me into; a short, white dress with irregular black dots splashed onto the fabric that barely reached my knees. Surely, she hadn't tried to be original and put me in a cow print dress to represent District Ten, right? Of course not. At least I wasn't Nex; his tuxedo matched my dress, and it looked absolutely pitiful on him. Oh well, it wasn't as if Nex's survival was any of my concern, so I guess his tacky-looking outfit only worked in my favour.

"Yeah, I am 'adorable', aren't I?" I snipe back, trying to conceal my nervousness at the interviews, "And clearly, being 'adorable' will do me so many favours when I'm in the Games, won't it?"

"It'll make people like you, which you need all the help you can get in that department. You're really pretty, you know. I could have used that to your advantage if only you were that little bit nicer." Her words are almost the exact same as Cadence's had been back in District Ten, except they were distorted and twisted by her intentions and accent into something different. While Cadence had nothing to gain out of trying to encourage me, this woman was different. Year after year, she had probably had to deal with dozens of tributes like me, most of which had died a week later. All I was to her was a client, someone that only existed in her mind to make her famous and wealthy and had no importance outside of that.

She reaches out one hand to try and squeeze my shoulder in a supposedly comforting gesture, but I flinch. I don't want her trying to lead me around like I was one of those odd-looking dogs that I had seen around the city, "I think I can manage on my own without your 'help', thanks." I snap.

She looks affronted by this, but I'm not really concerned by her emotions right now, and it makes no difference to my mood when she storms off to fix something about Nex's outfit.

Suddenly, everything here seemed too confining, claustrophobic, and I find myself tugging at my dress. It was too short and clung to my body like a second skin, revealing more of my trembling, underfed body than I wanted everybody to see. It was doubtful that anybody would care though - they'd just say that the interview would only be for three minutes and that it really wasn't a problem. If only this wasn't being televised so that everybody around Panem would mock me for looking so helpless, then maybe I wouldn't feel so humiliated. I find myself wishing I could just get undressed out of this stupid thing and back into real clothes as I watch the District Eight male babble on about the Capitol's clothes or his fashion taste or something.

His words reach my ears, but they don't make any sense with every syllable merging with the next oddly; something that only adds to the chaotic mood I was stuck in. It's irrelevant to anything, I can gather that much. Wigs...dresses...fashion...why would you talk about this when this was possibly your last night in the Capitol in a world that was even remotely welcoming to you? I didn't get it, I didn't _get_ it.

The buzzer goes off for him and the applause continues a while after the boy had left. It wasn't helping the headache I was nursing and I rub my head, groaning slightly. Couldn't everyone just shut up for a moment so that I could think? It was always like this in the Capitol; everybody clambering together to clutter the atmosphere with their opinions and annoying, high-pitched voices. I couldn't get a second of peace around here.

It's hard enough to pay any attention to the outgoing, pink-haired girl that was boldly facing the interviewer as I speak. She's smiling and looking happy, clearly using that aspect of her personality to win over the audience. By doing that, she's trying to _kill_ me. Every little thing that any of the other tributes did; every second they spent training or maintaining their appearance or trying to appeal to the sponsors in any way was their indirect way of hurting me. Because every person that sponsored this girl was a person that wasn't sponsoring _me_.

"So Pippa," Jokle says, "I'm sure we've all been wondering this, but how did you manage to dye your hair that colour? It really is wonderful, isn't it folks?" The audience screams their assent, happy to go along with the fact that this 'pretty haired girl' would probably be dead very soon for their entertainment.

Pippa twirls a neat strand of hair around her finger, smiling slyly, "Oh, nothing that exciting. My mother just happened to be experimenting on my hair. She was supposed to make it a bronze colour, but you can see that didn't work." She tosses her hair around to show it off while smiling.

"Not to worry; it sure does make you stand out tonight, am I right in saying that, everyone?" Once again, the audience cheers. The unanimous way that the audience was taking part in all of this just reminded me of the sheep back home; stupid, aimless and generally lost unless someone told them what to do. It was another thing that I really didn't like about people; they always seemed so dependent on others, as if they couldn't do anything that was different from what others were doing for fear of being shunned. It was pathetic.

"Yeah, it was a bit of a pain back home, having everyone pay attention to me," Pippa laughs haughtily. I really hope she was just exaggerating her confidence, because knowing that this girl - who was younger than me - was handling this situation better than I was didn't make me feel much better about myself.

"Sounds like you were very popular there, Pippa. No chance a pretty girl like you had anyone special back home, eh?"

Pippa shakes her head, "Nope, not in that way, although that just means that I'm still free for anyone who's interested," she winks at the cameras at that moment, which earns her a few whistles back. Meanwhile, I was staring at her in shock. Was she trying to flirt here? She's thirteen! That wasn't even my age. However, Pippa's voice takes on a wistful note as she continues, "I just preferred being alone with a canvas and some paint. It was a hobby of mine."

"Oh, did you really? How ever would you have been able to afford that, dear? I wasn't aware that most people in District Nine could afford to waste their money on such a thing, and you didn't look the richest at the Reapings." Jokle asks, sounding slightly too sincere to be genuine. If he was trying to catch Pippa out and get her to admit that she couldn't always afford to paint using legal methods, he wasn't doing a bad job. Jokle might not have been doing that to the earlier tributes, but it was obvious to everyone that the higher districts held more favour with the Capitol than us. He was obviously trying to discredit us even further so that no self-respecting Capitol citizen would want to bet on any of us and would consider the tributes from One, Two and Four instead. It happened every year ever since they had started training, this favoritism, and would probably continue for as long as the Games were in place.

"Well it wasn't something I could do all the time, of course," Pippa hastily chips in, "It was a rare treat. That's what made painting so special to me. I really wish I had something to draw what I can see in the Capitol. It's really pretty and inspiring compared to home."

With ease, she had averted the topic with a vague answer and changed over to gushing about the Capitol as most tributes had done. Like the trained tributes and the Five girl and probably that girl from Seven, Kilea would have done if she hadn't been advertising how much of an idiot she was by revealing her motives for volunteering. Although there wasn't a rule saying you had to tell the truth about your past, what on earth could you get out of saying that she had volunteered because she'd been _dared_ to? If she had been lying, that reason for volunteering made no sense to the average intelligent being - although there didn't seem to be many of those around - and if that had actually been the truth...well it was doubtful she had the intelligence to survive for very long in the Games.

"Well of course it would be," Jokle replies with that touch of arrogance that he always seemed to maintain. The buzzer goes off before he can add anything else, and he just smiles, "Well, best of luck to Pippa Rosalin from District Nine!"

Pippa is off that stage and has skipped past me before I can do anything. Only one more interview before mine, only three or so minutes before it'll be me sitting on that chair being interrogated by an unforgiving interviewer.

Speaking of being scrutinized, Nex had been eying me up ever since I had snapped at my stylist, and he was still doing that from where he was lined up near me. It was quite off-putting, how he looked at me like I was some sort of experiment that he couldn't figure out.

"Could you stop staring at me?" I hiss at Nex, "It's not helping here!"

"Why, does it bother you?" He replies, not taking those eerie green eyes away from me, "In case it isn't obvious, you'll have to deal with a lot more people than just me watching you."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," I say, "Think I'd prefer to be in the arena right now to this. Why are they dragging it out like this?"

"You'd prefer to hasten your death? I would have thought that you would want to savour your last hours." He says, his eyes not losing any of their intensity.

"Is that a threat?" I ask carefully, unsure of wherever he planned on killing me himself. He didn't seem too vengeful, but then again, I knew next-to-nothing about him aside from a few details about his ex-girlfriend, which wouldn't do me much good if I mentioned them to him. In any case, I didn't want this guy - who was clearly a threat to any of the loners and outlying districts - to single me out to kill.

"Did it sound like a threat?" He says in an irritatingly calm manner, rendering it impossible for me to figure out if it was or not. In my eyes, it seemed as if he was trying to mess with my head, confuse me with a vague answer do that he might have the upper hand if we ever met in the arena. Well, it wasn't going to work with me!

"I was just clarifying." I shoot back with an equally meaningless answer, "I like to know where I stand with others."

"Isn't it obvious? You were dead from the moment they pulled your name out of that bowl. Hadn't you realised that yet?" The sad thing was, he didn't even say it with any malicious intent evident in his words. He truly did think I wouldn't win, "Why are you even trying, Adalia?" Nex continues, oblivious to my thoughts, "You really don't have a chance. What's the point of deluding yourself about the inevitable? It only hurts more, you know."

"That's probably what they said about Neon, and look what happened there," I mutter, feeling indignant rage course through my body. Why couldn't anyone just believe in me? I could do this; all I had to do was survive the next few days without meeting anyone. Neon had done pretty much the same thing, and she had been younger than me. It was possible, wasn't it?

Ignoring his laughter that seemed to mock me, I turn away, tears brimming in my eyes at his dismissal of me. It wasn't fair, I had never done anything wrong before. I hadn't defied the Capitol or even been that particularly rebellious. Why was I here, paying for something that I hadn't done? Okay, so Caud hadn't exactly been the most Capitol-conforming person, but surely they wouldn't have Reaped me just as payback, would they? Oh, how would I know? They probably had. That Eight girl, the one in the Careers, was related to a victor; why wouldn't they pick me because of my brother? After all, I was just another girl from District Ten, same as the girl last year, Erina, and the girl before that had died in the bloodbath, and the girl before, going on and on. I didn't matter at all, not in the great scheme of things. What did they care? Nex is right; I'm just another dead girl walking.

Had Caud been feeling the same way as I had done when he had been preparing for his interview? Had he been contemplating his chances in the arena as well while he had been up on that stage, laughing with the interviewer as he had discussed the other tributes? His outfit had been overly related to District Ten as well, my mind remembers vaguely. Since my outfit was also horrid, it wasn't helping me rid my brain of him. I wonder how he had felt about it, being mocked by some of his fellow tributes for his stylist's 'unique' fashion taste. It hadn't been that long ago either since he had been in the same position as me; not long enough so that Jokle would miss out on his opportunity to interview me about him, anyway. Surely he had been normal then, hadn't he? Or maybe the pressure and the constant thought of his own death had already been picking away at his mind, destroying everything human and changing him into the bloodthirsty, depraved monster that he had been the last time I had seen him.

I didn't want to end up like that. That couldn't happen to me, it just couldn't. My chances weren't that great anyway, but maybe, just maybe, if I did what they wanted, I could survive. That was all the Capitol wanted, wasn't it? For the districts to follow them without complaint? It might stop the Gamemakers from unleashing mutts on me if anything. Besides, if I was to die in this arena, I could at least cling onto my sanity. It was the only thing I could really do for Derek at this point, remaining myself for however long I had left.

A nudge to my side distracts me and I look up to see Nex staring at me with that scrutinizing, curious expression he always seemed to wear, "Your turn."

Before the implications of this fully hit me, he shoves me again, pushing me out from behind the curtain and into a blinding spotlight that's enough to blind me. Instinctively I shy away, back into the relative peace that the dimly-lit backstage had granted me, but it's too late, the interviewer has already noticed me and is smiling with his teeth.

"There you are, darling. Don't be shy, darling, there's nothing to fear here. It's completely safe now."

_Yeah, completely safe_, I think. _Completely safe aside from being shoved in the Games tomorrow. Yeah, nothing to fear there._

My hands quickly fly up to where the ladybug necklace always rested between my chest, but my fingers catch nothing but thin air. Oh, I forget, the stylist had taken it away from me, saying it didn't go with my dress and how it would have been _so much better_ if it had been a fly because cows were lazy, dirty things. That's why she dressed me up as one because to her, I wasn't any better than one. She's only making me wear this to mock me in front of everyone, show them how worthless I was.

Jokle notices this odd action on my behalf, "What were you doing there?"

"Oh, erm," I panic slightly, still having made no moves towards the chair, "I-I-I'm just so _overwhelmed_," I stammer out. When I realise that I'll be pulling in no sponsors with how pathetic that sounded, I lamely add, "With how, like, amazing the C-Capitol is."

I could always be honest and truthful with the interviewer, tell him that actually, being a tribute was the worst possible thing that had happened to me and that I didn't want to do this whatsoever. Nobody else - save maybe the Three girl, Spark - had really been honest in that way. Everyone had just talked about how much the other tributes shouldn't underestimate them, or how determined they were to win. No one had outright said "I don't want to be here" or anything along those lines. Of course, there's a reason for that; I knew perfectly well that no victor would do anything to antagonise the Capitol. You didn't defy them and expect to live, not in the districts and especially not here. And yeah, the chances of me dying were high even if I did lie, but it was still a _chance_, and I wanted to live more than completely throw away my life for a futile attempt at rebellion. Was that so bad?

Jokle just nods, accepting this pitiful response, "Well, I'm sure many people were feeling the same way. Now, why don't you take a seat, collect your bearings there, hm?"

"I don't think a seat will help much," I say, my fear giving way to my usual haughty manner, "If you don't mind, I'll remain here."

"Oh, ever the independent girl, I see," Jokle just says, looking unperturbed with this, "Of course, a strong girl like you wouldn't need allies, would you?"

"No."

"Like your brother, hm?" He ponders this falsely, "He didn't have any allies either. Do you think that you'll follow in his footsteps, Adalia?"

It's like he was mocking me, saying that I would succumb and transform into a monster regardless of my intentions. That's what had happened to Caud, wasn't it? He hadn't chosen to go insane in that arena, had he? Surely he wouldn't have done. His next words, which might have been interpreted as reassuring if not for the topic of conversation, do little to help my mood, "We were all rooting for him, I'm sure."

And when the audience roar in agreement, I want nothing more than to slink away back into the shadows and run back home, back to the place where I might have been distrusted, but at least I hadn't been subjected to anything like this. People had disliked me because of Caud, presuming that I would turn out the exact same way as he, but they hadn't pretended to like Caud for losing his mind in the Games. They hadn't cheered on me as my past was looked at and then disposed like all those years of my life didn't mean anything. It was disgusting.

There's nothing I can say that will help me though, nothing that will save me from the disapproval of the Capitol or the blades that the other tributes. I feel like a cornered mouse that had nowhere to run and had no choice but to play along with the cat until it got bored of me, "Well, he did well in the Games, so yeah, I guess so." I deliberately avoid the other implication present in that question; wherever I thought I would deteriorate into insanity.

"I do believe that he did better than well," he remarks, "But I'm sure that you can beat him. Nothing like some sibling rivalry, eh?"

"I guess not."

"That's the spirit!" Jokle smiles, despite the fact that my answer had been delivered in a tone of voice that was less than enthusiastic, "What can you bring to the table that your brother can't?"

"I'm fast?" I offer, although the audience – unsurprisingly – is not impressed at this, "So they might find me, but they won't be able to catch me. And, and I'm a fast learner."

"That always helps in the Games. Our Gamemakers are very good at surprising us, aren't they?" Once again, he addresses the audience who go along with him happily. Just then, the buzzer rings, but you can hardly hear it, "Well, looks like our time with the lovely Adalia Davenport is up. May the odds be ever in your favour."

I don't bother gracing that hackneyed phrase with an answer as I scurry off-stage, trying hard to ignore the jeers from the District Four girl as she bares her teeth at me. Out there, my identity had been turned into just another treat for the audience. In just three minutes, no less. I could imagine what they might be saying now, "Wow, isn't that interesting? That tribute had a brother who went mental in the Games. That would be so awesome if she became the same way!" None of them cared about me and once I died, they wouldn't exhibit the slightest ounce of remorse. They wouldn't even pretend to be sad because chances are that they'd be obsessing over the Career tributes and wouldn't even notice my death.

"Now, lets welcome Nex Winters!" Jokle immediately moves onto the next tribute, turning those alien eyes on my district partner, "Nex, how has your experience here differed from your life back home?"

"It's more colourful, I guess. This place isn't dull, I'll say that much," Nex answers blandly, seeming unperturbed with everything.

"And you think that District Ten was boring?" Jokle pounces at the opportunity to bait a tribute into badmouthing the districts with an excited gleam in his eyes.

"No, I didn't say that." He says in the same placid tone of voice. To the surprise of nobody, he seemed to be going for the strong-and-silent approach, saying as little as humanely possible. It wasn't as if he looked very strong, but there was something in the intense way he analysed the interviewer that stops Jokle from prying any further. Even he found Nex to be eerie; glad he wasn't the only one.

"Well in any case, you seemed to have fit into the Capitol well."

"I suppose I have." Nex replies curtly. For a second, I feel a twang of irritation that he barely had to say anything and could still gain sponsors. If only I was remotely as impressive-looking as he was, then I wouldn't have had to say anything more complex than a 'yes', 'no' or the occasional 'I suppose' and it would have been fine.

"Your training score suggests this, doesn't it? A seven is very impressive." Jokle compliments with a bright smile that is about as genuine as that District Two girl and her varying persona.

"For someone of my district, anyway." Nex speaks with just the faintest trace of bitterness present.

"And what do you mean by that?"

For a second, I think that Nex will go off on a tangent about how unjust the Capitol's treatment of the lower districts compared to Districts One and Two. It's what he seems to be implying at, anyway, "Nothing. Why does there have to be meaning in anything I say here? There doesn't. Words don't mean anything anyway. There's not even any point in doing this interview; you're not going to find out anything new."

"Well Nex - "

"All you've really done is state the obvious so far, and I'm sure that Panem already knew my name, age and training score, although everyone will forget all about those details soon enough when I d - "

"I wouldn't be so hasty there. You actually have a very good chance of winning." Jokle says slightly too quickly in an attempt to stop Nex from mentioning his inevitable fate. Anything to stop the tributes from mentioning the fact that they would - shock horror - _die_ soon before the Games start. He then tries covering up this little slip with a false laugh, "How could anybody possibly forget your name when you're broadcasted to every television in Panem?"

Before Nex can reply, the buzzer sounds, although I was fairly sure that it hadn't been three minutes left. Well, the interview had seemed to go a lot quicker than mine had, and Nex hadn't been interrogated in detail about his family. I almost envied him if it wasn't for the fact that envying anyone in our situation was a foolish thing to do.

"You sure wowed over the crowds there," I say snidely as he passes by. The scattered clapping that you could hear from here indicated otherwise.

He just raises an eyebrow at me, "Like it makes any difference. If my words actually meant anything, I might not be so accepting of this situation." Nex continues walking away from me, dismissing me and any further questions I may have.

Maybe it wasn't that difficult to figure out why Jokle hadn't queried Nex about his family. It was well-known among District Ten about Nex's former girlfriend; it was entirely possible that the Capitol had found her antics too rebellious to be discussed in public and had briefed Jokle on that beforehand. I mean, that's what I would have done if I was leading Panem.

There's not much reason to stay here now, but I feel compelled to witness how the other tributes coped with the interviews and I survey the District Eleven girl with some interest as she takes to the stage, wearing a maple-leaf red dress that covers her body modestly - presumably to match her hair, knowing the cryptic fashion sense of the stylists - and a pair of sandals. The poor girl looks terrified; she's shaking slightly as her eyes focus on something that nobody else can see.

Jokle notices this and pats the seat next to him gently, using that tone of voice grown ups used when they were talking to a puppy or a very naive child. I had always hated it when people tried using it on me, "There's no need to be scared, Elliah. Nothing's going to hurt you here."

Those were - almost - the exact same words he had used when he had tried 'comforting' me! Had he no shame that he basically used the same party line to send along innocent kids to their deaths twice in the span of what? Five - maybe six - minutes? Thankfully, Elliah chooses not to respond to such cheap words with an answer, instead deciding to shuffle over to the chair and hesitantly place herself down in it.

"That's better now, darling." Elliah tries cracking a smile to get Jokle off her back, but it's little more than her curving her lips upwards in the necessary position and lasts a mere second before that haunted look takes over again, "You seem very distracted there, dear. Are you having fun dreaming of all the riches you'll surely gain when you win the Games?"

She shakes her head, "I can't win, I can't let them change me like that."

"Let what change you?" He leans forwards, although I know he realises what Elliah means by this. It hadn't exactly been difficult to work out, "The fame? I'm sure it won't get to your head. You seem like such a modest girl now with a score to match. How do you feel about receiving a four?"

"That doesn't matter, it won't do anything." Elliah whispers, "I'm going to die in that arena. What did I ever do?"

You didn't have to be the most observant to notice the flash of irritation that passes across Jokle's face before his empathetic, sincere mask is plastered back on, "Honey, I'm sure you have it in you to survive."

This does nothing to help inspire positive emotions in Elliah and I can sympathise. Jokle was treating her like a crying baby, pretending to relate to her problems and making elaborate promises that he can never keep, nor does he have any intentions of doing so, "I'll never have it i-in me to k-kill others." Elliah's blue eyes begin to fill with tears and it's not long before she starts crying silently, tears streaking down her face as she breaks down, "I c-can't do this, I can't ha-handle this."

"Elliah - "

"How do you l-live with yourself knowing you're masking what's g-going to happen to us?! You're as bad as the rest of them ar-are!" She shouts out of the blue. Well, she didn't exactly shout, but her voice was considerably louder than the hoarse whisper she had maintained for the rest of the interview so it seemed like she had. With that, she stands up and storms towards the side of the stage, brushing off Jokle's hand, "Just leave me alone!"

Her sudden departure means that she has a few seconds' head start before the Peacekeepers catch up with her and start to drag her off more forcefully. I wince at the unnecessary amount of manpower they used just to deal with a scared, innocent girl. What did they gain from pushing her around like that? Had they done it just so it looked like they had handled her efficiently? I _really _didn't get the Capitol.

Jokle, being the kind, sensitive human being that he was, beams at the audience, "I'm sure Miss Feren was just a little overexcited there. We've all experienced that at one point or another, I'm sure." The audience is hesitant to accept this flimsy excuse, but it beats the alternative that the districts actually feel fear over the fact that they could die tomorrow, "Now, shall we allow her district partner, Cyrus Ithilien, on-stage?"

The audience cheer and the small, twitchy boy skitters over to sit next to Jokle. His eyes dart around, seemingly focusing on random people in the audience with a strange sort of intensity before they move to another, and he looks even more skittish than Elliah had been.

"So Cyrus, you're allied with your district partner, aren't you?" It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in before Cyrus nods, his eyes still fixated on something near the stage lights to his right. I peer over at where he's looking at, but there's nothing unusual or attractive about the gaudy decorations that seems particularly eye-catching. However, he comes from District Eleven; colour was probably a rarity there for him.

"She doesn't seem to think her chances are very high; do you share her lack of confidence with your own odds or do you think both of you can do well?" He asks warily, eying Cyrus as if he might leap up from his seat and denounce the Games like Elliah had done. However, this question only merits a shrug from the Eleven boy. There's a look of horrified fascination twisting his features as he stares off into space. Who knew what brutal deaths from the previous thirteen Games were running through his mind? He must know that he would be another one of those meaningless and dead children soon, same as me.

Jokle seems to be growing annoyed with his lack of cooperation as he starts firing out the questions in a spit-fire manner, "How about any family? Any friends? How do you think they'd feel about all of this?"

Cyrus' eyes widen even more; something I hadn't thought was actually possible, and his lips form a single word. However, he's inaudible and I've never been the best at lip-reading, so it's beyond me what he means by this.

"Hm? Care to repeat that?" Jokle's eyebrows rise to appear interested in this tidbit of information, which would have been considered worthless in the other interviews. However, it was the most interesting thing Cyrus had done so far, which wasn't saying much.

Those eyes that had been focused on so much before now turn to the interviewer and when Cyrus speaks, it's with the defiant, closed-off tone that shows he's not willing to say anything else on the matter. I recognise it from years of doing the same thing, "I have a family. They love me very much and help care for me in District Eleven. I'm sure they want me to live."

It's not surprising when there's no adoring sounds over his words; Cyrus wasn't exactly playing up to the cute angle most tributes his age attempted to do, resulting in a definite lack of 'sympathy' from the audience. Jokle continues straight on with his list of prepared questions, "And of course, you want to live too, naturally." He ignores the fact that suicide was always an option, although I doubted that the Capitol wanted to advertise this, "Any skills that might help you rise head and shoulders above the rest?"

Cyrus glares at the interviewer, crossing his arms over his chest defensively, "You'll see."

I'm sure Jokle couldn't have been upset to see off District Eleven for what was probably the last time as the buzzer goes off. Chances are that Jokle wouldn't have to deal with the stress of those two children that were unable to cope with the reality of the Games ever again. How _lucky_ for him.

"Sparrow Adair!" Jokle reverts back to his cheery mode, probably hoping that he would get someone willing to hold a normal conversation with him before the interviews were over. He was probably out of luck though; District Twelve was reputed to be the worst district and it was doubtful that they would want to play along, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I must say, that's a lovely name you have there."

"Thank you, I did need to know all about your irrelevant opinions, didn't I?" She snipes, fiddling with the hem of her beige-coloured dress. Her shoes matched the dress and her hair was 'stylishly' disheveled with a few dead leaves scattered about within. Sparrow didn't look elegant or gorgeous like some of the more Capitol-style dresses that the Careers donned, but the way that Sparrow acted as if this outfit was natural for her stopped her from looking like a savage - or whatever the Capitol called us.

"Ah, such a charming attitude you have there, Miss Adair." He retorts with the same amount of sarcasm present, "I'm sure you've amassed many friends in District Twelve with such manners!"

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't." She answers evasively. I can't exactly say I'm impressed with this nonsensical answer and neither is anyone else.

Jokle waits for her to say more but Sparrow's lips appeared to be sealed on that subject, so he moves on to the most obvious topic from there, "And do you have a family?"

"I do. I have a little sister who is called Adoette, two brothers - Channing and Fisk - and a half-sister, Basil," Sparrow doesn't delve into much detail about her family, although I'm not surprised here. She didn't seem very open with herself. However, Sparrow then perks up slightly as she waves and shouts at one of the cameras dotted around the stage, "I'll be home soon, don't you worry!"

This statement is at odds with the Sparrow I've become acquainted with during the Capitol. She doesn't seem to be the perky and emotional type from what little I knew of her, but maybe Sparrow was trying to reassure her siblings back home before the bloodbath tomorrow. The more likely possibility in my eyes was that she was using her family in order to gain sympathy - and as a result, sponsors - from the interviews, a suspicion of mine that grows when I hear the audience coo over this.

"Do you think they'll be worried for you?" He asks while tilting his head to the side to feign interest, voice devoid of any real compassion.

"No. Worrying about something you can't do anything to prevent won't make it go away." She says seriously, back to being stoic.

Jokle nods, humouring her, "That's a very good way of viewing things, Sparrow. Did such a mantra help you achieve the score you did? A seven isn't just given out to anybody, you know!"

I groan at how unsubtle that topic change was. Somehow, I doubted that your opinions on the world helped you receive a high score and Sparrow's unamused expression shows she thought the same way, "No," she manages to put all her scorn at such nonsense into that one word, "Such a method of scoring would be impractical."

"And I take it you would consider yourself to be the opposite then."

"Yeah, if there's anything I can rely on in the arena, it's the fact that at least I have some common sense. You should probably take that into consideration before betting on some of the others, I can assure you of that now." The buzzer rings then and she stands up and walks off the stage with no sense of ceremony about it, not even acknowledging the interviewer.

I wish I had acted as confident as Sparrow had seemed. She wasn't much older than me, but you'd never think this by the way she carried herself like a strong, determined fighter. On the other hand, most people barely thought I was twelve here due to my youthful appearance, even though I didn't act much like one either.

Turning back time would be nice; people didn't expect you to be burdened with so much when you were younger. You could just skip around and worry or care about nothing else outside of your little bubble and you didn't get into trouble for it. Now, I felt like I had wished too much of my life away, seeing as it was about to be cut short. I can vividly recall me complaining to my brother about how I wished I was older so that I could help him out; I seem so whiny in retrospect, never bothering to appreciate anything.

" - liking your outfit there." The last interview must have started without me paying attention, but I don't seem to have missed much outside of the preliminary introductions, so I wasn't too worried. Sure, interviews didn't really give away much aside from the tributes' angles but it was interesting to see how everyone was coping with the pressure of being interviewed. I liked to think that it helped suss out who might crack under the pressure of the actual Hunger Games first and who out of the non-Careers might be more willing to kill than others, "A modern take on your district's industry, hm?"

Loken's clothes aren't anything flashy by the Capitol's standards; a long-sleeved, skin-tight top with similar trousers, both coal black. The only remarkable thing about it happens to be the black stones that are dotted on the outfit. I think it's something called obsidian, but I wasn't entirely sure seeing as I had never come into contact with it before the Capitol, "You'll have to give credit to my stylist for that; I certainly don't want to take credit for something that isn't mine."

"How kind of you. So Loken, what skills do you possess that will help you, do you think?"

"Oh, where do I start?" The District Twelve boy deadpans, remaining motionless as he sat in his chair, "For one, I…can skip backwards."

"I suppose with such a rare and unusual skill, you must have an equally fascinating and insightful strategy for the Games, I presume." His voice is dry.

"I don't plan on dying, I can tell you that now." Loken then becomes serious as he continues to talk, "I used to be a butcher back in District Twelve. Well, my father was, anyway. I helped out a lot."

"You had to deal with dead animals and blood?" Jokle scrunches his face up at the thought of this, which is ironic coming from someone happily supporting the Games, "I can't imagine that would be pleasant."

Loken shrugs, "Someone has to do it." His eyes break contact with the interviewer's as indecision takes hold of him. He has to swallow slightly before he can say the next words, "They're just animals, aren't they?"

"I guess you're right," Jokle grins at him, "What do you think about your fellow tributes then? Think that rule applies to humans as well?"

Loken fidgets around uncomfortably in his seat and it's a while before he repeats, "They're just animals."

"That's what we're looking for, aren't we?" Jokle grabs Loken's hand and shakes it with more vigor than needed, "I think we've got a strong competitor here on our hands. Lets give it up for Loken Farris of District Twelve!"

Although he receives a fair amount of applause, it couldn't hold a candle to the round of cheering that Quartz had received earlier. It didn't really matter; it was still loud enough that it allowed me to slip away back to my room so that I could appreciate the last few hours that were mine. With the cameras filming your every mistake, I wouldn't get a second's privacy there, and I knew that I would never escape that arena in anything other than a coffin.

I'm dead, my life has already been given an expiration date, and it scares me. There's no way out for me and why should I even try when the chances of me being the last one standing out of every tribute here are so hopeless anyway? In fact, why was anyone trying? Even if you were trained, your odds of surviving the arena were pathetic. That chance - that one chance out of twenty four - was the only reason that the Games were successful; that little beacon of hope was enough to make children become killers. I had been like that and I still probably was desperate to cling onto that possibility of being the winner, but it wasn't something that I was going to put my faith into. I'll die in that arena, sooner or later, and maybe if I try to accept it now, it wouldn't hurt so much when it happened.

Everyone should just accept it, really; nothing's more worthless than hope.


	32. Final Night in the Capitol

**A/N- **An update on an actual update day! I'm happy when I am able to do this. Next chapter unfortunately won't be however, the next chapter is Launch and I'm not actually sure what is going on with that chapter... whether the author is or isn't writing it so I need to double check that so expect a break between this and the next one. Anyway despite some set backs this has been more successful than Thirteen in where it's got to now so thank you to everyone for doing what you have to contribute. Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Elliah Feren, District Eleven Female**

**Final Night in the Capitol**

_**Sgarnett99**_

* * *

I feel like Theseus. Of course, I am not Theseus. I am a girl of thirteen, not a strong, brave young man. I'm just a terrified child who's going to be brutally murdered. That's what I keep telling myself.

For whatever reason, it doesn't make things much easier.

Theseus and the Minotaur, along with Pandora's Box, is a story I quite enjoy. I think I prefer Pandora's Box, only because it's a lot more hopeful than the story of Theseus-Theseus was a hero, and it seemed that all was going well… and then he forgot a simple thing and everything turned. His father died and really, nothing turned out well for Theseus except for the insignificant fact that he was alive.

Rather like the story of a Hunger Games victor isn't it?

Of course, Theseus had help. He had Ariadne's thread, and if I think about it, maybe Cyrus Ithilien is my (rather unlikely) thread. My ally. My path out of the Hunger Games.

* * *

_I sat on my plush bed, staring at the beige wall, still in shock. Still not believing that I was truly going to my death. Still not believing the confidence shown by the strong tributes of districts One, Two and Four as they _volunteered _for this. Sure, I had had a moment of hope just after the goodbyes, but who was I kidding? Neon Edison wasn't just an observant underdog, she was clever. Smart. The only thing I was good for was berry-picking and telling stories. _

_There was one thing my muddled brain could make sense of, and it was that I had no hope of doing it alone. _

_And that was when it hit me like a ton of bricks, like a huge tidal wave in the best possible way. _

_Cyrus. _

_The District outcast- even more so than me. The angry, scared, and possibly hallucinating little boy. He couldn't protect me. _

_But maybe, just maybe, we would be able to help each other. _

_That was when I knew, what was going to happen. That was when I realized I was going to ask him to ally with me. What made a better pair than two loners? _

_I quickly got up and hurried out of my room, the excitement boiling over. Cyrus's bedroom was right next door, and I almost barged in excitedly, filled with new hope, but then stopped short. Would Cyrus think I was doing this to manipulate him? Would he hit me? Slam the door? I frowned, and then quietly tapped on the luxurious oak, and opened it cautiously. There sat my district partner, dark eyes fixed on a point in the distance, mumbling to himself. Clearly, he saw something that wasn't there. _

_"Cyrus?" I asked carefully, timidly. He jumped and his eyes snapped to mine. "Hi."_

_"What?" He demanded quietly, still glancing back to the point he was staring at before._

_"I was thinking," I said, feeling my eyes light up with hope and excitement, "about our predicament." _

_"Pleasant." _

_"No, I meant- well, I was thinking that- that- that perhaps we could help each other out a little bit."_

Now I have attained his attention, _I thought. He looked suspicious, doubtful, but curious. "What?"_

_"You and I are both underdogs. We both feel hopeless," I said, and then noticed the view. We were riding along the coast, and Cyrus's window provided a beautiful view. A 'wow,' slipped out of my mouth as I gazed at all of that open water. _

_"Elliah. You were saying?" Cyrus asked, and I shook my head to clear it._

_"Sorry. Distraction issues." _

_"It's fine. What?" He asked impatiently, looking at me with anticipation. _

_"We should ally. In the Games. We could be a team, I could help you."_

_He looked unhappy. Scared. "You? Help me? You're no older than me and just as hopeless as I am. Sorry, Elliah. I'm sure you have good intents and all, but I don't think you can." _

_"I could too. I help my little brothers plenty," I protested. "We could help each other, I'm sure of it. Look, I'm just trying to aid you in our journey to stay alive. It's like… a quest. Teamwork." I looked at him for a moment, and then said, "I must say, we have the nicest rooms. Look at them!"_

_"Er… yeah, they're nice," He frowned. "You talk funny," Cyrus remarked, and then, with a sigh, added, "You're setting both of us up for a fail, Elliah. But I'm in. As long as you can help me prolong my death." He extended his hand, and we shook. _

_"Thank you, Cyrus," I smiled, and exited the room before I could let out a shout of happiness. The euphoria was short lived, but it provided the burst of willpower I needed. Cyrus was my new, helpless little brother. We were family now._

* * *

A lot has changed since then. Cyrus has opened up to me much more. We've spent countless hours discussing plans, strategies for the Games. Now it's the final evening before they start and I'm in a constant state of anxiety. I don't know if I'll be able to eat dinner tonight. Chances are I'll just regurgitate it immediately. I need the food though; I've put on a couple of pounds in the Capitol, which will help me later on in the Arena. I've never actually been starving-never missed a meal- but I know hunger more than, say the Careers, I suppose. I don't know what I'll do about them. They radiate ruthlessness and confidence wherever they go.

Even though I allied with Cyrus, I feel that my life will end very, very soon.

What is there to fear, though, of death? I will be welcomed into death's caring arms and given a place in the afterlife, should such a thing exist. And if it doesn't, I will fall into a deep, eternal sleep.

I guess I'm more afraid that the others will make it painful.

"Elliah! Cyrus! Come have dinner!" Krissi Dane's voice calls. Resignedly, I get up and make my way down the beautiful, brightly lit hall. The superb design and technology here never fails to amaze me. I would love being in the Capitol, if not for the fact that I'm being handed my death sentence right now.

Cyrus is already sitting at the dining room table, piling his plate with food. Clearly, we have the same idea; to gorge ourselves and then hopefully last in the Arena. "Hello, Cyrus," I say. "I daresay you enjoyed your interview?"

His interview was alright, I suppose, like mine. The crowds didn't go wild for us, although I do hope they liked me well enough. I tried to be cute and eccentric like Lili told me. Cyrus can, somehow, transform his face into an indifferent mask and seal himself off from others; he was quiet throughout his entire three minutes. The audience never reacts well to that kind of tribute, but maybe they pitied us. Perhaps they will want to send us something, food maybe, to help us out. I mean, a young tribute won last year, so maybe they will have warmed up to us more?

I can only hope.

"Thanks. I don't think it'll be my greatest asset these Games," he mumbles, but I try to smile encouragingly. It comes off feeling like more of a grimace.

"It's alright. We've learned a lot, especially in training. We do stand a chance. An underdog won last year," I remind him.

Cyrus realizes I'm just trying to make him feel better. I'm realistic about most things, and he is not ignorant of that fact. But he just shrugs while I put food onto my plate. The dishes here are ones that I've never seen before. They're so delectable, so superb, so rich, I still can't believe my eyes whenever I enter the dining room. It's difficult to force food into my mouth right now, as my stomach is clenched from fear, but I know it's silly to starve myself the night before I enter the Arena. Spending so much time in District Eleven's fields and orchards, of course I have some knowledge of plants, and I paid attention to the lessons on edible foods they gave us, but what if the Arena is a desert? A snowy wasteland? I can't afford to be hungry tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I go to the Arena with only Cyrus as my ally.

Two thirteen year olds with mental issues are going to help each other survive amongst strong eighteen year olds with years of training.

What's the only thing I can do? I can clumsily swing a dagger around. I can run like the wind. I can climb to the tops of the tallest trees.

That's it.

It all begins tomorrow.

I give my head a shake; this is what usually clears my thoughts when I begin rambling in my mind. I try to focus on the conversation around me, like a little test; I've been getting better and better at this as the week has gone by. Whereas fear usually freezes me completely, this predicament has forced me to gain better concentration. I'm not focused like certain Careers, but at least now I can get through a conversation without drifting off into some fantasy world of mine.

"Elliah! Wake up," snaps Lili Farrow, our mentor. "You've been getting better at staying focused. Where's your concentration?" She heaves a sigh, then continues, "Look, I know watching the Hunger Games, what, three years ago, made you upset. I know it gives you nightmares. I know it makes you distracted. But you've been doing well faced with the prospect of the Arena so far. And like it or not, kid, you're going to be living the nightmare tomorrow. Wake up or else you won't survive."

Lili is kind. But she's tough, and gets upset when Cyrus and I make mistakes. She was nice about my training score, about my experience so far, but maybe I shouldn't have told her about my brain issues. I think it irritates her, the fact that I can't stand the idea of killing.

But I'll have to, if I want to see Alex and Isaiah again. If I want to see my mother and father again. If I ever want to see District Eleven's orchards again.

"Apologies, Lili," I mutter. "Oh, Ms. Dane, have you tried this pudding?"

Krissi smiles, but Lili gives her a look, telling her not to respond. "It's fine. We have strategies to discuss now; please make this easy on me. Elliah: no going to visit dreamland. Cyrus: your sister is not haunting you."

Cyrus scowls and I give a small smile. Dreamland is such a nice name. It reminds me of soft green meadows, puffy clouds and chirping birds. It reminds me of hazy light and cool breezes. It reminds me of no Hunger Games.

"You two were supposed to discuss strategies during training. Not to mention, you were supposed to pick up a few talents. Were you successful? Remember, your training score doesn't tell me anything. For all the Capitol and I know, you could both be trying to stay out of the focus of other tributes." Lili's words are barely legible; she speaks through a mouth of potatoes and roast. Krissi Dane grimaces.

"I taught Cyrus how to climb. He's good at it, too," I say softly. "Plus, I learned how to use a dagger."

"Alright," Lili purses her lips. "That means you will be able to do a bit with throwing knives, too. Remember, when a tribute comes after you, Elliah, your best bet is to run. You're fast. If they're gaining, bring out your weapon. If you don't have one, throw rocks at them. But they won't expect a weakling like you to be armed, or prepared for this sort of thing. I know you're quick. Use it to your advantage. And, above all, get the _hell _away from that Cornucopia."

_When a tribute comes after me. _Tributes will come after me, meaning to kill me. And I will have to defend myself. I will have to attack them back.

"Cyrus-" she begins, and I feel tears threatening to escape. I need to get out of here. I'm not going to break down in front of the ever-tough Lili Farrow.

"I need to go," I say hurriedly, pushing my chair back from the table hastily and dashing towards the elevator, feeling as though I might snap.

"Elliah!" Lili yells, but it's no use. I press the elevator button four times in a panic, feeling fear bubble up. This entire time, I've been frantically swimming in an ocean of fear, but now it threatens to consume me and I will drown.

I can't stay afloat anymore.

"Elliah, wait," I hear a voice say, and I hesitate to climb into the elevator. Because that's Cyrus's voice, and the sound of it comforts me.

Broken, angry and scared though he is, without him I'd be a complete wreck right now. I've grown to care for him. And I know that if I was going into the Arena without him, my new brother, I wouldn't have the courage to step into that launch tube tomorrow. Cyrus is the reason I haven't flung myself off the dining room balcony. Cyrus is my only motive to stay alive, because I have to protect him.

At the start, I wasn't sure about allying with him. He seemed quiet, sullen, always angry. I thought it would help keep me alive. It was a solely a strategic move. But it's grown to more than that. He's opened up to me. He's not just the terrified, hopeless thirteen year old he is to the rest of the district. I care about him more than I ever would have thought.

But I have to be alone right now.

I slide into the elevator and look at where I could go. After scanning all of the buttons, I notice a final one labelled _roof. _

I punch the button and the doors begin to close, but skinny Cyrus slips through the door. I purse my lips with unhappiness- I don't think I can talk to anyone at the moment. I need to be alone with my thoughts. And to make matters worse, he'll notice my bright red eyes and see that I'm about to cry.

"Elliah. What's going on?" He asks, frowning, confused. But he must know. At the bottom of our hearts, each tribute has fears. Even the toughest District Two volunteer could have a knife slit their throat, and even the quietest tribute could have a spear stealthily slip into their back.

We could all die.

That realization has been both my biggest hope and greatest fear.

"You know what," I whisper, not meeting his eyes. After a pause, I continue, "I'm just scared. I need air."

Cyrus nods understandingly, and says, "Lili's mentoring can get a bit too intense, I guess. Especially right before the Games are about to start." The sleek elevator dings and the doors slide open. We step out and he continues, "It's okay. We have a strategy, remember?"

"Only vaguely," I mumble. "It's cloudy right now, only because I am afraid. Interrupting myself constantly doesn't help, either."

"Why _do _you get distracted so easily?" Cyrus asks curiously. A question he never would have asked a week ago, when he believed I was just another heartless tribute out to get him.

A personal question, but one I don't mind answering, I suppose. I heave a sigh and say, "I saw the Hunger Games. A few years ago. My parents were watching it. The Bloodbath. They never let me watch the Games- maybe they knew I was too weak-minded to be able to take it. Anyway, I watched this little boy die. He was from our district, and…it was bloody." I vividly remember that day. It makes me want to freeze up with fear even now. "It… I don't know, it did something to me, I guess. I've gotten nightmares ever since, became scared of too many things, began spending all my time alone. Maybe that was what did it. Perhaps if I'd gotten help I could've gotten back to normal, but the only people I ever spent time with were my own thoughts. I know I'll die tomorrow. I can't handle fear. I'll freeze up and won't be able to think," I explain. "I think it's called Post-Traumatic...er…Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"Oh," Cyrus frowns, and then says quickly, "well, our strategy was that you would grab a backpack, since you're such a fast runner. I would wait for you. See, since I'm not as quick, I would die trying to get us a bag. Then we would make a break for shelter together. I know it's not the best plan, but… well it's the only one we have," he mumbles.

"I remember now," I reply with a grateful smile. "It was just… foggy. There are some flaws, but-"

I stop dead when I hear a chuckle and whip my head around. Spark Themis, the female from District Three, stands alone, looking out at the Capitol.

I look at her timidly, and she locks her eyes on mine. I didn't even know she was there. "Yes?" I ask timidly.

Spark turns around and says, "I was laughing because every plan has 'some flaws'. Even the Career tributes. What will their plan be? To kill everyone they meet. The flaws are damn _obvious _there. It`s too arrogant of an idea. They`re not going to expect anyone to _dare_ try and kill them, and when someone does, well… that`s where their plans fails. Not to mention, one of them's a cripple." Spark gives a harsh laugh.

I'm a little surprised by her words. They're blunt, and she's one of the only people I've seen so far who seems like she isn't completely terrified of the Careers. She's interesting.

"Yeah, the Career's plan has flaws, but obviously, they're not big enough to jeopardize their success," Cyrus mutters sullenly.

"You'd be surprised," Spark snaps. "Even the strongest have fears and problems. Don't be so naïve about this."

"You'd be worried, too, if you were thirteen years old and up against people like Cassiterite," I say, trying to stand up for Cyrus. Of all the Careers, she scares me the most. Cassiterite is gorgeous, talented, a born leader, and intimidating. I'm completely terrified that it will be her, the seemingly so sadistic Cassiterite Vellumptuai, who will take my life with those weapons she uses so well.

"Who's to say I'm not worried?" Spark asks condescendingly. "We all are. Both of you should wake up, because the Games start tomorrow."

I'm taken aback. To seem young and naïve was not my intent. But Spark clearly thinks of us that way. I don't want to make an enemy of Spark, but my words come out of my mouth rather harsh. I'm usually kind, timid and quiet. But she angers me, reprimanding us for being scared. It's not in her place to do so. "Put yourself in my shoes. I'm terrified because tomorrow I'm going to die, I'm sure of it. You can tell me all you want I'm just being stupid, but I have a right to be afraid. I'm going to the _Hunger Games_, for God's sake. You have no right to question my fear," I reply stormily, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Cyrus just watches us with a wary expression.

To my surprise, Spark rolls her eyes, and says, "look, sorry if I offended you." After a painful pause, she mutters in a more sincere voice, "I guess fear is getting to me."

"It's alright," I reply in a quiet voice. "We don't want to make enemies either. I think fear is getting to all of us, really."

There's another awkward pause. Then Spark says uncomfortably, "Well, I'd better get going. I'll, uh… I'll be seeing you tomorrow, then…"

_I'll be seeing you tomorrow. _It triggers a reaction in both Cyrus and me. His eyes widen angrily and I freeze.

Her killing me tomorrow. I can just see it now.

It translates to the same thing, doesn't it? In these circumstances?

_I'll see you tomorrow. I'll kill you tomorrow. _I shudder and let out a whimper, a tiny scream of fear.

Spark frowns. "Um… Elliah? Cyrus?"

I shake my head quickly. "Sorry. I'll see you, then."

Cyrus still stands, fearful, angry, tensed as if ready to spring.

Spark nods, looking relieved to leave us, the two slightly insane tributes.

Then a thought comes to mind.

Spark Themis seems like a good person, even if she is rather blunt.

I make a rash decision, realizing that the run-in with this tribute has made me act very odd; snapping and acting reckless. Two things I've never done. "Wait! Spark!" I call, as she pushes the elevator button to go.

"What?" She asks tiredly, turning around with a sigh.

"Would you… like to ally with us? We could help you," I say quickly, not regretting the words that leave my mouth. I can see her protecting us. I can see myself coming to care for her just like I have for Cyrus.

Quickly, Spark shakes her head, looking completely decided. "Sorry. I won't do well in an alliance. I don't want to make an enemy of you and Cyrus, but I think I'll be better off alone. Good… er… good luck, I guess."

Then she's gone.

But I don't regret asking her. Because it gave me such valuable information.

Spark doesn't want to make an enemy of us.

She doesn't underestimate anyone. Even two crazed thirteen year olds.

Spark Themis is a force to be reckoned with.

"Well… she was kind of weird, I guess, but I hope we don't end up running into her in the Arena," Cyrus admits.

"Yes, I suppose so," I say, but I can't force any more words out. Fear is consuming me, now that there isn't anything to distract us.

It's all so real now.

I'm going to die tomorrow. Or sometime within the next two weeks. I wish I could be like some tributes, I wish I could be resigned to the fact that, yes, I'm going to die, and it's alright.

But I can't. I'm too scared.

The only thing I can do is pray that my family won't watch, or that my mum and dad will at least stop my little brothers from seeing my public death. What will Alex and Isaiah think? Do they know I'm going to die? Or do they believe that their big sister Elliah is coming home to them? Do the two four-year olds even know what death _is? _

"Elliah… are you in there?" Cyrus asks, waving a hand around my face.

"Yes, yes, I am," I reply, voice cracking. No tears exit my eyes, though.

He says, "Well, we should get back. Lili will probably be mad by now, and we've got strategies to discuss. We've gotten some air, but she'll want us back by now. We need to get some sleep, too. The Games begin tomorrow."

That's when I really snap.

Hearing someone else confirm it, it just makes everything so _real. _

It makes me scream, makes me fall to my knees and scream bloody murder at the Capitol as tears stream down my face. It makes all the resent I've been pushing down bubble up and boil over. It makes me let all of my fear out, it makes Cyrus shocked.

"Um… Elliah? Did I… did I say something?" Cyrus asks, looking positively terrified.

I brush a tear away from my eyes and stand up.

"No," I sniffle, and continue with a weak smile, "I just needed to… you know… scream."

"Ah," Cyrus replies, looking a little confused. "Okay."

"Can I tell you a story, Cyrus?" I ask suddenly, not sure what he'll say. "Before we go down, I mean?"

"Uh- I- alright," he says, taken by surprise. "Sure, you can tell me a story." There's a look on his face that says, _what the hell, I've got nothing to lose._

"It's an ancient story from the Old World. A dark one, but it's a good story!"

"I-yeah. What is it?"

"It's called the story of Theseus and the Minotaur," I say. "See, there was this boy named Theseus. He lived in an ancient land called Athens, across many oceans. His father was king."

"King?"

"It's like the president," I explain. "Erm… where was I… far from Athens, across the sea-the sea is very nice, by the way. Sometimes I wish I lived in District Four. Anyways…across the sea… there lived an evil king called Minos. King Minos had a terrifying monster in his palace, trapped in an elaborate maze called the Labyrinth. This monster was called the Minotaur." Cyrus watches me attentively. "The Minotaur ate humans, and so, King Minos decided that he needed human sacrifices. And each year, he sailed to the land called Athens, to find seven boys and seven girls as his sacrifice to the Minotaur."

Realization dawns on Cyrus's face and a reluctant smile spreads over it. "The Hunger Games," he says.

"Yeah. Meanwhile, Theseus was just learning about this. He was horrified, and declared that he would kill the Minotaur. Though his father protested, Theseus decided to go anyways. 'If you must go, Theseus, take these white sails. When the ship comes back, if the white sails are up, I'll know you're safe,' His father said.

"Theseus went with the other prisoners to Athens with the intent of killing the beast. While he was staying in Minos's castle, he met the princess Ariadne," I say animatedly. "She fell in love with Theseus at first sight, and the morning the prisoners were to enter the maze, she gave him a ball of string and a knife. 'Kill the Minotaur with this knife, and hold on to the string,' she said. 'It'll guide you back through the maze.'

"So Theseus did. He made his way to the center of the labyrinth, being sure to hold onto Ariadne's thread. And when he found the monster, there was a fierce battle. But Theseus killed it! He exited the maze safely with Ariadne's thread and the two escaped the evil King Minos.

"On their way back, Ariadne mentioned that she would like to marry Theseus. He, however, didn't love Ariadne. So when they stopped at an island, Theseus quickly sailed away before Ariadne could come back. In his haste to escape the princess, though, he forgot to fly the white sails. The king of Athens, his father, saw that the white sails were not up and flung himself into the unforgiving sea.

"The king died, and when Theseus got home, he realized what he had done. Theseus was safe, but his father was dead…so was it really a victory?"

Cyrus frowns. "That's a terrible story."

"I quite like it. It's a bit terrible, but it reminds me of our predicament right now… it's a lot like the Hunger Games. Sacrifices and victories that aren't really victories."

"I guess so…" Cyrus says, deep in thought. "It's interesting, though. "You're a good storyteller."

"Thanks," I smile. "I should think we ought to be getting down now?"

The trip down the elevator and back into the kitchen is silent, except for Cyrus's quiet mumbles. When we see Lili, she looks angry, ready to chew us out for ditching her when she was in the midst of giving us important information. Life-saving information.

But then, she sees my tear streaked face and Cyrus muttering to himself.

Lili curses under her breath and rolls her eyes. "Okay, look," she snaps. "I don't know where you went-"

"I just needed air. I'm sorry," I murmur, regretting going to the roof. I could have been learning. Instead, I was talking to Spark Themis and breaking down in tears.

"Look, it's fine. Both of you, listen up. This is important, probably the most important information you'll get from me," she says. "When that gong rings, you don't fight. What have I taught you? Defense, that's what. You. Do. Not. Fight. You _run,_ like your life depends on it, because it does. If there's a backpack right in front of you, Elliah, grab it. You're fast enough. There's something useful to be found in every weapon, you just have to be resourceful. If you only have that backpack and you're being chased, throw the damn thing in your opponent's face. Whatever it takes."

There's a significant pause before Lili carries on.

"Go to sleep. You'll need it, trust me."

We nod and Lili Farrow walks away.

Tomorrow, my stylist will take me to the hovercraft. I won't ever see my mentor again.

_The hovercraft is where it ends._

"I'll… er… I'll see you in the Arena," Cyrus says. "Remember the plan. Good luck out there."

I nod, eyes wide, swallowing vomit. "You too. We'll make it through tomorrow, we have to."

"Okay," is his only reply. His eyes are also wide. We look like deer in the headlights. A tiny, terrified pair.

I brush red hair out of my eyes and bite my lip. Then I pull Cyrus into a bone-crushing hug, not being able to stand the fact that I might lose him. He's become family to me, and I won't have any motivation to go on after this. Instead of Alex and Isaiah, the only person I'll be fighting for is Cyrus.

He's surprised, but I feel his hand patting my back reluctantly, gently.

I pull away and open my sleek, probably obscenely expensive door. Cyrus gives a wave and goes off to his room.

"Cyrus?" I call quietly.

"Yeah?"

"You're my Ariadne's thread now."

When he gives a little smile, I know that he cares about me too, and it makes the prospect of tomorrow easier.


	33. Death Knell

**A/N- **After discussing it with Megan and Ace I've decided to get the Games up and running so here we have it. The first part of the bloodbath. Launch is somewhat of an important chapter but not so important that nothing else can continue, besides the most important part of Launch is seeing the Arena and you get that right here. Thank you to the authors and the readers for supporting us up to this point. Let the Games begin!

* * *

**Loken Farris, District Twelve Male**

**Bloodbath Part One**

_**shadesunrider13**_

* * *

I can feel my heart beating too hard, pounding like a drumbeat as the countdown begins. I'm breathing too hard. I am scared, but it's the same kind of scared that I get before a raid on the Peacekeepers. That's all this is. It's just a raid. Just a raid. Just another raid. I get a quick glimpse of the room - large, circular, Cornucopia in the center and one door - as I bend down to open my backpack, but that's enough to tell me what kind of hell I've landed in. There's one door. One way out. And it's closed. The Gamemakers must want to ensure a high kill count for the first day, and what better way to do that then to lock us in?

I dig into my backpack, coming up with long, thin, pieces of metal, light and shining silver in my hands. What is this, some kind of staff? I keep looking, hoping for some kind of blade, because I can't bludgeon someone to death with this weapon and to choke someone, I'd have to be close to them. I don't want to be close to anyone. Then I come up with a sharp-edged, leaf-shaped piece of metal, and I know what my weapon is. A spear. I have a spear.

A glance at the countdown shows that I have twenty-eight seconds to assemble my weapon and get ready for what's about to happen. Coolly, efficiently, I snap the telescoping rods of the handle into place and attach the spearhead. Sixteen seconds. My eyes rove around the room, taking in the other tributes, some of whom are holding weapons, others holding random objects that I can't imagine being useful in a bloodbath.

They've stacked the odds, the Gamemakers. The people with weapons are most likely to survive this small room, while the people without weapons are at the mercy of the others until the door opens. I glance up and see yet another timer above the door, set for five minutes. I'm guessing it'll start once the first countdown ends. Five minutes in this small room, with twenty-three people out for my blood. Five minutes. All I have to do is survive the next five minutes.

Like just about everyone else in the room, I turn my eyes toward the first countdown. Eight seconds. Seven. Six. I try to wipe my mind blank, calm, devoid of anything except for the reason why I have to go home. Four. Three. I know Malak is watching this. I want to give her a reason to hope.

Two.

One.

The gong goes off and I clamp my fingers down onto my spear. I step backwards off my plate, keeping my back to the wall, and slowly start to inch toward the door. Right now, no one is paying attention to me. All of them, every last one, have gone to the center for the objects scattered around the Cornucopia. The ones who got something useless in their backpacks are scrabbling frantically, looking for weapons, and those who have weapons are searching for someone to use them on. I catch a glimpse of Sparrow running toward the pile, knife in hand, and I press myself back against the wall, wishing I could vanish. Don't come after me. I'm not a threat.

I hear a yell of pain and see the boy from District Ten clutching his leg. The girl from District Seven, the one who volunteered, is holding a bloody sickle in her hand, and she's staring at it like she doesn't understand what just happened. Me, I'm thinking that if I was her, I'd either finish him off or start running. And when she does neither, I know she's doomed.

Blood is pouring out of District Ten's leg, spattering all over the floor, and some other tribute, stealing a pack and retreating out of the fray, starts to retch at the sight of it. District Ten doesn't waste time. He clamps one hand over the wound and steps toward the girl, slamming into her and bearing them both to the ground. He got something strange in his pack, a set of metal claws, and as the girl from District Seven screams beneath him, he slams them into her face until there's nothing left, just a bloody pulp and a howling open mouth. He strikes her again, bone crunching and gray matter running out of her ruined skull to mix with the blood, and she's still.

I've just witnessed the first casualty of the Games, but I've stopped moving, and that's no good. I keep edging along the wall, keeping the boy from District Ten in sight. He gets up and walks away from the corpse of the girl from District Seven, heading for Rima Vertes, the girl from Five, who's pulled three packs toward her and is frantically sorting through them. She sees him coming and twists aside in time to avoid being impaled on the claws, but he still scores a strike on her upper arm. She scrambles up and away, and he follows her. I don't care about them any longer. She left the three packs behind, and I can see what's inside all of them.

A quick check to either side reveals that there's no one close to me; they're all still grappling at the Cornucopia. I dart forward and grab the packs, unloading them and stuffing everything into my own, now-empty backpack. I keep ahold of my spear. All I have to do is stay alive until the doors open. Then I'll be away with a pack and a weapon, and when I'm running, no one can catch me. I'll find a place to hide. And then I'll think about my next move.

There's a strange, familiar sound from up ahead of me, and I'm wondering where I've heard it before when the rock enters my field of vision. It comes too fast for me to avoid it, but it's also poorly aimed, and instead of striking me between the eyes, it skids across my cheekbone, scraping off skin. I realize that I'm under attack and I push off, slinging my now-full backpack onto my shoulders, and I'm just bolting for the door when I realize where that rock came from, why I recognized the sound. A slingshot. There's a slingshot in the arena.

I turn back around and see the boy from District Five backed against the wall. He seems to have taken the same strategy I'm using, but with a small twist; instead of staying completely out of the fight, like I've had to, he's using his weapon to take potshots at other tributes. He's yet to hit one. It's clear by the way he holds the slingshot that he's got no idea how to use it. I could use it. I could kill people with it, if I hit them in the right spot, or stun them long enough to dispatch them with my spear.

It's the quickest and easiest decision I've made in a week. I start toward the boy from District Five. "Why don't you give that slingshot to someone who knows how to use it?"

He spins around, shocked. He's only fifteen and maybe five foot eight. I tower over him, and he backs away, sliding along the wall. My pursuit of him is taking me further away from the door, further away from my chance to escape, but I don't care. Here, right here in front of me, is one weapon I know I can use. I'm not going to let it get away from me.

The boy from District Five has a rock already loaded into the slingshot, and he tries to bludgeon me with it, swinging it straight for my head. I dodge, feint with the spear and reach for the slingshot with my other hand, but he whips it out of my reach and goes for my head again. Idiot! If he would just give me what I want, I'd leave him alone, but there's a fight boiling near the mouth of the Cornucopia and it's heading this way. I don't have time to do this nicely. As he swings at my head again, I lift the spear and drive it into his exposed throat, just like I'm processing an animal back home.

For a moment, the expression on his face is pure confusion, but then he coughs or gags or something and blood starts coming out of his mouth. He drops to his knees, dislodging the spear, and reaches to his throat with both hands, as though he can somehow heal the wound if he just covers it up. There is so much blood. The smell of it is already permeating the air, but I'm used to that. I reach down and pry the slingshot from his slick hands.

"I wish you hadn't made me do that," I say quietly, and then the clash of weapons scares me back into reality.

I flinch back, spear and slingshot in my hands, and flatten against the wall as the brewing fight comes to a head right in front of me. The combatants, though, aren't paying me any attention, and I sneak away. I get to the door, flatten myself against it, and glance back at the fighters, and only then do I see that one of them is Sparrow.

She and Quintus are both after the boy from Eleven. He has a weapon, a cleaver like the one Aden uses to separate carcasses into pieces, but he's too preoccupied with dodging the attacks of the other two to use it. Sparrow and Quintus are trading blows at him, leaving each other alone, looking for all the world like allies, and I wonder if I miscalculated. Maybe Sparrow has joined the Careers.

She's the one who kills the boy from Eleven, ending it with a simple slash across his throat. Quintus turns toward her, shouting something I can't hear, but then another tribute, the girl from Eleven, I think, screams. She's just seen her dead district partner, slumped against the wall with blood down his front, and the noise is enough to draw Quintus onto her. She is weaponless and too small and if he catches her, she'll die. As he turns toward her, I see it in her eyes. She knows that as well as I do.

She sees him coming and backs away, but she trips over the dead body of the girl from District Seven and falls flat on her back. As she gets up, Quintus backhands her across the face with the brick in his hand and she sinks down again, blood pouring from her nose. It looks broken. As he raises the brick to finish the job, someone else catches his attention and his lips curve into a gleeful smile. He's seen Sparrow, running toward the door. Toward me. I dive sideways, trying to get clear of her and the bloody blade of her knife, but she never makes it this far.

Quintus catches her from behind and tries to drag her down, but she must have learned a thing or two in the community home, and she elbows him in the ribs, freeing herself. She turns to escape, trying to run past him, but he grabs her and shoves her back across the room, slamming her up against the Cornucopia.

"That," he says, breathing hard, "was my kill."

Sparrow sees me, over his shoulder, and our eyes meet. She's struggling, but he's too strong and there's no way she's getting out. "There are plenty of kills left," she says, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

I could kill Quintus now. Come up behind him and put my spear through his spinal cord, sling a rock that cracks open his skull like an egg. I could do it. But then I remember Sparrow. Kill Quintus and I'll save her, only to kill her when she inevitably comes after me. Killing my district partner won't play well, and if I expect to get any help from back home, I can't do it. Not to mention that if I kill a Career, the rest of the pack will come after me no matter what training score I received. I do the only thing I can. I avoid her gaze.

"You're right," he muses, tapping the brick against the metal of the Cornucopia. It produces a hollow sound, and I think _death knell _before I can stop myself. "I guess I'll have to make do with you, instead."

She twists her head sideways, avoiding his first attack, and our eyes meet again. She shouts something, maybe my name, maybe a call for help. I'll never know, because Quintus smashes the brick into her head, leaving a bloody crevice in her temple, and she falls to the ground, thrashing like she's having a seizure. That injury will kill her momentarily, but Quintus apparently doesn't see a reason to wait; he lifts the brick, brings it down, and caves in the side of her head.

Sparrow. Sparrow is dead, and Quintus scoops up his brick and vanishes into the other tributes. She is lying on her stomach, her head turned toward me, and I'm trapped in the endless, accusing gaze of her still-open eyes.

I look away and inch the last few feet to the door. I'm the only one here, and even in the midst of this mess, it surprises me that no one else approached the bloodbath the same way I did. I take stock of things; I have two weapons and a backpack jammed with food and medicine. The graze on my cheek stings, but as far as injuries go, it's tame compared to the District Eleven girl's broken nose or the boy from Ten's sliced-open leg. I'm okay. For now I'm okay.

I stare blankly out of the bloodbath, seeing things but not registering them. The only image that really sticks with me is the simple-minded boy from Three pulling a long, silver knife from his shoulder. The girl from District Two, Cassiterite something, has throwing knives. I file that piece of information away for later, thinking that if I ever come across her, I'd better break her skull before she can take aim at me. I can't count on outrunning a knife.

While everyone else fights and dies around me, I go unnoticed, or maybe I'm intimidating enough that none of the other tributes will risk an attack on me. A tall, strong tribute carrying a spear, with blood already covering his hands, is not a tempting target for anyone, not even the Careers. All I can do is stand, and wait, and watch, and hope that the door will open soon. And when it does, I'm going to run so hard and fast that this killing field will be nothing but a memory behind me.

But no matter how fast I run, no matter how far away I get, I can't rid myself of the smell of blood that is already sinking into my skin.

* * *

**A/N- **This is the first part of the bloodbath and by no means these are not the only tributes to die during this very first stage of the Games.

24th- Kilea Fairbane, District Seven Female - Killed by Nex Winters, District Ten Male

23rd- Ryan Jenkins, District Five Male - Killed by Loken Farris, District Twelve Male

22nd- Cyrus Ithilien, District Eleven Male - Killed by Sparrow Adair, District Twelve Female

21st- Sparrow Adair, District Twelve Female - Killed by Quintus Xavier Praetorian, District Four Male

Until Thursday!


	34. Bloodbath Part Two

**A/N- **Second part of the bloodbath everyone and an update on time. I promise you that I will do all I can to make sure there are 3 updates every week. If there are problems then I'll let you all know beforehand in another authors note on a chapter or something like I've done previously. But for now enjoy this chapter :D

* * *

******Allure Medina, District One Female**

**Bloodbath Part Two**

_**Cashmere67**_

* * *

_Mieux vaut faire, et se repentir,  
Que se repentir, et rien faire._

* * *

As my plate fully arises into the new room, the first thing I notice is the uncomfortable environment. The crisp chilly air grazes across my face, and I scrunch my nose in disfavor. I blink several times in a row, adapting my eyes to the environment in this building. My hair feels frizzy and heavy, and I quickly wrap it up into a bun, still glancing at the timer above the Cornucopia.

Only if I still had my top-of-the-line beauty products from the Capitol, then I wouldn't be having any sort of problem.

_Get your game face on, Allure._

I arch my back forward, leaning my hands against my knees. Gritting my teeth, while flaunting off their perfect alignment to whoever is looking, I grunt in a muffled tone. I smirk at myself, realizing how frail and childish I probably look, hoping that no one notices me doing these motions. Turning my head side-to-side, scanning each and every tribute, I come across Quartz and we make eye contact. He narrows his eyes, smirks, and then flicks his head towards the Cornucopia.

The timer above the Cornucopia has a '180' on it in bright flashing yellow lights.

I grip the backpack in my hand, attempting to figure out what is inside of it by groping it and caressing every nook and cranny. As I examine the backpack thoroughly, I can't help but feel as if someone is staring directly at me. Uncomfortably, I widen my eyes and look upwards, locking eyes with the District Four female, Lush.

Lush's calm expression morphs into a callous smile in the matter of seconds. She does some hand gestures with her hands, waving, snapping, and even doing some rather inappropriate gestures. I shrug my shoulders and roll my eyes, about to gesticulate something back to her, but then I realize what she's doing.

She's trying to distract me.

I clench my teeth, fighting back the urge to launch my backpack at Lush's head, and then direct my attention back onto the Cornucopia.

The timer now has a '60' on it, making me snap back into reality; the Games are about to begin.

The timer decreases in time every second, and I begin to get a little nervous. Sweat begins to form on the top of my forehead and I feel my hands getting all clammy. I try to distract myself the timer for a few seconds, looking at the stances of all the tributes. Some of them bespeak desperation and pessimism, but then you have the Careers – Quartz, Jem, Cassiterite, Quintus, Lush, and Dakota – who bespeak determination and preparedness. Most of them look uncomfortable and, to be honest, comical, but I know that at the moment, we all have the same dream; we all want to survive. They all seem to be ready, but in their own ways, but who knows what the outcome of the Bloodbath will be.

_It's one big room full of bad bitches. _

I snicker at my own thoughts, drawing some attention to myself, but then I notice Quartz nodding towards the timer once again. Gripping the backpack firmly with my hands, I count down the remaining seconds until the backpack can finally be opened.

The timer reaches five seconds, and the adrenaline kicks in, and also a sense of urgency.

And then it goes down to four, and then three, and then two, and then _one_.

The first thing I do is tear the fabric, opening the backpack. I don't pay attention to anyone else, whether my allies or any of the other tributes. I leap backwards, hiding myself from everyone else, and search through my backpack. Inside of the backpack, there are three pieces of some sort of weapon: the blade is separated into two parts, one part is the tip and the other part is the rest of the blade, and the other part is the grip.

It's a sword.

_You get what you get and you don't get upset._

I connect the two pieces of the blade together, making sure that they are tightly put together, and then I connect the grip to the bottom of the blade. I roll the blade around on the ground a few times, just to make sure I put the sword together in the correct way.

I stand up, balancing myself, keeping an eye on anyone who is near me. While I was opening the backpack and connecting the sword, I was vulnerable, and I'm surprised no one took that to their advantage.

But who would attack a Career, anyway? A fool would. Especially a Career that is a _model_.

I grip the sword in my right hand comfortably, and practice swinging it around a few times, but then I realize something – this isn't training anymore; I can't be nonchalant about everyone anymore. I need to be more wary and alert.

Turning my head side-to-side, trying to locate one of my allies, the first person I come across is the District Two male, Jem. Jem sprints forward, trailing the District Ten female, Adalia, while swinging his weapon desperately. Adalia glances behind her for a quick second, and once she realizes that Jem is getting closer to her, she panics. She takes a quick right, which puts some distance between Adalia and Jem.

I back up, holding my hands out behind me, until I reach a wall. I lean against the wall, still observing the chase, which will soon become a physical fight, between Adalia and Jem. I walk along the wall until I find a corner where two walls meet, and then push myself into the corner.

Jem lunges forward, swinging his crowbar much more furiously this time. Jem sprints faster towards Adalia and swings his crowbar at her feet. The curved part at the top of the crowbar wraps around Adalia's ankle, and both Adalia and Jem fall down onto the ground.

Some electrical and trap parts fall out of Adalia's backpack, but Jem doesn't pay too much attention to those.

Even from where I am standing, I can hear a sickening crunch come from Adalia's ankle. She screeches in pain and tries to crawl forward, but Jem's crowbar is still wrapped around her ankle. She shimmies her ankle out of Jem's crowbar's grip, and then crawls forward. While she is crawling away from Jem, she reaches out her hands and collects whatever parts and items that had fallen out of her backpack.

Adalia probably sprained her ankle, which isn't as bad as full-out breaking an ankle, but that will still cause her some problems. She crawls into the darkest corner of the room and I can still hear muffled moans coming from her.

I step forward, still being cautious of where I step and who I look at, and only make it a few feet until I see someone charging at me. The room is too dark to fully make out who it is, but all I notice is that the person is female due to her hair, and is muscular due to her large build. I hesitate, not sure what this female is trying to do, and stay exactly where I am without moving.

The female erupts into a low-sounding chuckle, and just from the sound of her voice, I realize who it is – _Lush_.

I prepare myself to jump to the side, but before I can, Lush's weight is forced on top of me, sending me backwards. My head slams into the wall and my body slams onto the ground, and my vision becomes a little blurry and my body aches.

"Lush," I whimper, "What are you doing?"

Without responding, she inches closer towards my body. When she is at least a foot away from me, she begins to kick me in the abdomen. I can't do much since I am constrained in the corner, and I can't move my body too much. Lush stops for a second, rummages through her unopened backpack, and then pulls out two small utensils.

Lush narrows her eyes in frustration, "Are you kidding me?"

Obviously, Lush hasn't opened her backpack until now, and she isn't too happy with what was in it. Inside of her backpack is a fork and spoon. She pulls out one last thing, and a smirk forms on her face.

It's a map.

"I'll save that for later. Now, let's get back to why I was here."

I reach for my sword, but Lush steps on top of my hand, and I yelp in pain. She kicks my sword out of the way and I flail my body, trying to distract her. I open my mouth to scream for help, but she kneels down and forcefully puts her mouth over my mouth.

"You'll be okay, Allure, this will only last a second."

I squirm around, trying to release myself from her grip, but to no avail. She puts more pressure onto my mouth with her hand and grabs my hair with her other hand. She leans me upwards and tilts my head backwards. Lush smirks, and then pulls out a few strands of hair from my head. I squeal, still trying to escape from her hold.

"What do you prefer, Allure? A fork or a spoon?"

Lush puts her face closer to mine, making eye contact with me. She breathes heavily and blinks several times, waiting for a response from me.

"Here are your options: I gouge out your eyes with the spoon or pierce your eyes with the fork. Choose wisely, Allure."

I look around the room, trying to find something that is close enough to me that I could use to my advantage. There is nothing that could help me on the ground, since my sword is too far away from me and Lush is currently restraining me.

Above me, in arm's reach, there is a fully-lit torch. I manage to get my right arm out of Lush's grip, and reach towards the torch. Before Lush can realize what I'm doing and stop me, I knock the torch out of the sconce, sending it downwards. It falls directly next to Lush and I, and Lush falls backwards. She crawls away on her hands and knees, trying to reach my sword before I can.

The torch doesn't set anything on fire, but at least it caused the distraction that I needed in order to get away from Lush.

While still lying on the ground, I manage to pounce forward, landing only a few inches away from the sword. I swiftly grab the sword, gripping in my hand, and then stand up. I lean my left hand against the wall, keeping myself balanced since I am still a little dizzy from what Lush had done to me.

Lush is still on her hands and knees, and once she realizes that I have a sword, she immediately gets up and then sprints directly towards me.

Why wouldn't she run away? I would have given her a second chance.

I hold the sword out in front of me, trying to intimidate Lush, but she doesn't stop or give up. Once Lush comes close enough where the sword would pierce her, I spin around in a circle and move to the side. Lush runs right past where I would still be standing if I didn't move, stops in her place, and then I slash the sword against her back.

Even though it's too dark to notice how big the cut is and how much blood she's loosing, her wound is still somewhat noticeable. Lush turns towards me slowly, and once I catch a glimpse at her eyes, all you can see is a deranged look upon her face.

"You shouldn't have done that, Allure."

"Why are you doing this, Lush? I did nothing to you," I inquire, sounding desperate and weak on purpose.

Lush's eyes twitch and a creepy smile forms on her face, "Your time is up, Allure."

"I don't want to do this."

Lush guffaws, "Do what?"

"Kill you," I whisper.

"You wouldn't kill me. You're not a real Career, and you never were. You're just a model, Allure, not a fighter."

With the mention of me being a model, I instantly become infuriated. No one mentions that in such a derisive way, especially not Lush.

Who does Lush think she is? She has no right to speak to me in that way.

"You're wasting my time," Lush spits.

Lush charges at me, and I hold the sword down at my side. I lower my head, not letting myself see what is about to happen. When I can see her feet come into view, I hold the sword out in front of me, and once I feel it impale Lush, I forcefully drive it into her.

I whimper, sniffing my nose and beginning to cry. I release the sword from my hands and cover my eyes with my hands.

I go silent for a second, without crying or sniffing my nose. I remove my hands from my face, but still look downwards. Just from my view of the ground, I can see Lush's head at my feet. Her face is facing the ground, but I can't see what the rest of her body looks like without looking upwards.

After a few more seconds of me looking at the ground, it is time to look at Lush. I slowly raise my head, slightly scared of what I might see. Once I see Lush's whole body, I realize that I just killed her. Her body slumps on the ground, the sword is pierced through her body, entering her chest and coming out of her back.

_What have I done?_

"Allure…"

Without turning around to see who is behind me, I just know that it is Quartz by the voice. I throw myself into Quartz' arms and he wraps them around me tightly.

"It's not what it looks like, Quartz. She attacked _me_," I reply hopelessly.

"It will all be okay, Allure."

"No, Quartz, it's not. Do you see what I have done? I have killed someone," I whisper.

Quartz lets go of me and I immediately drop to my knees. Quartz kneels down next to me and raises my head upwards with his finger.

"This is the Hunger Games, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but _I_ have killed someone. And of all people, it was my ally. Doesn't that make me a backstabber?"

Quartz opens his mouth, but then shuts it a second later. I look at Lush and stare at her body attentively. Her backpack lies next to her, with her map, fork, and spoon scattered around. I stand up and take the backpack from Lush's dead body.

I saunter from here-to-there, picking up the map, fork, and spoon. I roll up Lush's backpack and put the backpack, the map, the fork, and the spoon in my own backpack. After putting everything in my backpack, I put my own backpack over me.

I meet up with Quartz and we back towards the Cornucopia in the center of the room. The large door that had its own timer on it has already opened, which is why most of the tributes have already left this room. At the Cornucopia, Jem, Cassiterite, Quartz, and Dakota are all standing around, rummaging through the supplies. They all notice Quartz and I walking towards them, and then continue looking through the supplies.

Quintus raises an eyebrow, "Where's Lush?"

Quartz puts his hand out in front me, "She's dead."

In unison, Jem, Cassiterite, and Dakota speak, "What?"

Quintus walks over to Quartz and I, "Who killed her?"

"I did," I murmur.

"Why would you kill her?" Quintus shouts angrily.

I try to respond to him, but all that comes out of my mouth are breaths. Quintus broadens his shoulders and pants heavily.

In all honesty, I'm not sure why he is that mad. Lush always challenged his authority and they never really seemed to have a friendship of some sort. If someone like Quartz or Cassiterite were killed, then I could understand why he would be mad. However, I do feel guilty about killing her, which makes me feel bad about this whole situation.

I killed Quintus' District partner.

What if he killed Quartz?

I would be infuriated and vengeful.

So, why am I questioning the way he is acting right now? Since, if I was put in that position, I would be acting the same way.

"I'm sorry, Quintus," I murmur, barely audible.

"What was that?" Quintus bellows.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, this time much louder.

"You should be," Quintus retorts.

"That was uncalled for, Quintus," Quartz says.

Quintus ignores Quartz, "Go do something useful and sort the supplies."

I walk away from my allies and go into the mouth of the Cornucopia. Surprisingly, there aren't any weapons inside of the Cornucopia. I guess that makes sense since everyone got a weapon of some sort inside of their backpacks, even if they aren't anything special. Inside the Cornucopia, there is only food, drink, and survival supplies and kits, and medical supplies. I arrange the supplies in accordance to their purpose, with food going in one corner and medical supplies going in another corner. I do this for a few minutes, but then it gets tedious and taxing.

"Lush attacked you, didn't she?"

"And then I killed her."

Cassiterite grabs a few supplies from the pile and helps me sort them. She doesn't respond to me, and I really don't want her t, since nothing she can say will make this situation any better. We move more of the supplies, and then we she stops and puts her hands on her hips.

"It was instinct, Allure. Would you rather be dead, or would you rather her be dead?"

"I didn't know killing was going to be this…" I begin, but trail off.

"Get used to it," Quintus interrupts, speaking from the other side of the Cornucopia.

Cassiterite and I look at each other, but then look away once Quintus comes into view. Quintus walks past Cassiterite and I and begins to move some of the supplies out of the Cornucopia.

"Watch out!"

All of our attention directs on the large door, where the male from District Six, Phoenix, sprints through, coming directly at us. Once the boy realizes that everyone knows he is here, he stops in his path, turns around, and runs the other way. Quintus runs through the supplies, knocking some of them over, trying to give chase to the boy. Quintus is a faster runner than Phoenix and catches up to him in a matter of seconds.

Quintus tackles the boy to the ground, putting all of his weight on top of him. The boy squirms, and Quintus pins him down, putting a firm grip on his body. Quintus raises his fist and then brings it down on Phoenix's head, and a loud scream erupts from the boy. Quintus continues to punch him until Phoenix is unconscious.

"Get me some rope!"

Jem complies with Quintus' demand and gets him some rope. Quintus ties the rope around Phoenix's hands and feet, and then stands him up. Quintus and Jem each grab an arm of Phoenix and walk him back towards the Cornucopia. They throw him up against the Cornucopia, and drop him, letting his body slump down to the ground.

I walk around the other side of the Cornucopia, not wanting to see what they are going to do to him. Even from the other side I can still hear noises coming from Phoenix. I look around to see who is on the same side of the Cornucopia as I am, and the only other person near me is the District Eight female, Dakota.

I walk forward, not paying any attention to my other allies. I walk outside of the large doors leading into the arena, swaying back and forth and nonchalantly humming here and there. Suddenly, a hand is placed on my shoulder, and I glance at the hand, and realize just by the up-kept fingernails that it is Dakota.

"Can I join you?"

"I don't know, _can_ you?"

Dakota giggles, "May I join you?"

I wink, "You may."

Dakota bends her arm and holds it out, and I interlock my arm in hers. We both walk forwards a few feet, our arms still interlocked. Dakota tilts her head upwards, looking down at me with her nose. From the corner of her eye, she looks at me, and smirks.

"Why aren't you joining in on the festivities?"

"I've seen enough killing for the day."

I don't share the same enjoyment with killing as the rest of them do, but I am surprised that they're all so into it. If it was my decision, I would have given Phoenix a second chance, and maybe even given him some supplies to at least survive for a few days. Or, I would have asked Phoenix to join the Career alliance, not because he has exceptional skills, but because he had the courage to try to steal from the Cornucopia. Plus, the Career alliance is already down a member, so one more wouldn't hurt.

_You can't be so friendly, Allure. Not everyone is like you. _

If someone offered him supplies or an alliance, I am sure he would have accepted the offer or joined us. In the Hunger Games, you rely on instinct and skills for survival, and having no supplies or having no allies would not keep you alive.

_Phoenix probably would have tried to kill you. Just like Lush._

What if Lush was alive right now? She would probably still be planning my death, and this time with help from others. If I didn't impale her with that sword, she would have ran right into me with her fork and spoon, cutting me severely. Ultimately, she would have been the one to kill me, ending my chance of winning the Hunger Games.

And I need to win.

_But isn't that what everyone wants? To win?_

But I have purpose, not like the others.

_That's a little conceited, don't you think? What makes your aspirations different from the others?_

I have something to prove, not like the others.

_What do you have to prove, Allure? Are you trying to prove that you're not just a model, but you're also a fighter?_

"Stop it!"

My knees buckle, and I drop the ground, my body slumping to the side once I fall onto my knees. Dakota tries to hold me up, but she lets go of me, and rests my head on her leg. I begin to bawl loudly and hyper-ventilate.

"Allure! What's wrong?"

I gag, trying to breathe properly, "I killed her."

"You had to do it, Allure. Don't you realize that?"

I ignore her remark, "How is this considered entertainment?"

Dakota bites her lip, "I don't know."

I wipe the tears from my eyes and manage to push myself up. Dakota and I are both on our knees and I bring my face closer towards her.

"Will I have to kill you too, Dakota?"

Dakota's eyes widen, "What?"

I repeat, "Will I have to kill you too?"

"I hope not. You're my ally, Allure, and I would never do anything that would hurt you."

"Do you promise?"

Dakota wipes away the tears dripping down my face, "I promise."

_But why can't I promise the same back? If I killed Lush, what would make you different?_

Since Dakota is one of the actual allies that I genuinely like and trust, I need to be completely honest with her. Who knows, she might not be saying the most sincere things, but at the moment, it seems like she is. With her, I am going to be completely honest and will not make promises that I cannot keep. In an alliance, truth is essential and paramount.

At this point, why do friends and experiences seem to be more heart-warming than the thought of victory? Why is friendship more enjoyable than killing?

If victory only comes through killing people, then I don't want it.

_Then why did you volunteer, Allure?_

_You're just another wasted potential from District One._

* * *

**A/N- **A death hinted at this chapter but who knows what will happen. You'll see this Saturday :D

20th- Lush Thistle, District Four Female - Killed by Allure Medina, District One Female

Thanks for reading! Reviews have been lacking so if you can please leave a review :D


	35. Children Feel Pain

**A/N- **Here we go, the final part of the bloodbath! The previous chapter and one other chapter have a general chapter title which I did try to edit but for some reason fanfiction isn't working properly and will not let me edit the titles so that's why they haven't got names like most. Anyway, please review if you can and enjoy!

* * *

**Greylyn Conway, District Six Female**

**Bloodbath Part Three**

_**District11-Olive**_

* * *

Everything in the arena goes silent except for the sliding of the metal door against the dark walls. Nobody moves for what feels like such a long time, as the door creeps open. An inch of grey fog turns into a foot, a foot into a couple feet and so on. No one moves around me, the people to my left and right invisible to me as I stare intently at the growing doorway. Even the steady sound of breathing is inaudible, as if everyone were now holding their breath.

In an instant the room comes alive. Black boots pound against wood as tributes take off from their platforms towards the Cornucopia in the middle of the floor; filled to the brim with supplies of all sorts. No weapons though, those we were given. That's why a heavy mace is clutched in one hand, barely able to lift it I sprint towards the door along with many others. When I don't see Phoenix I stop and look back for him, but he's nowhere to be seen. Tributes shove past me into the fog and I am pushed backwards towards the exit along with the rest of them, the mace falling from my hand and disappearing into the thick mist. I try and call out for Phoenix but my voice is lost among the cries of others.

A screech cuts through the air and my blood freezes. I stop running and one of the older tributes knocks me to the ground on my stomach in their pursuit for the exit. From my spot beneath the fog I see the male from District Eight fall to the ground with an arrow in his neck and blood running freely onto the wooden floors. Another male dashes past me, nearly stepping on me had I not been quick to get out of his way. An empty bow is clutched in his hand and several arrows stick out of his black backpack. He must have killed the District Eight male. All the weapons are different from what I saw, he's the only one with arrows. His face is indifferent, if not a bit panicked. A chill runs down my spine when I recognize him as the male from Seven. I thought only Careers could kill with such brutality and carelessness.

Another boot narrowly misses crushing my hand and I jump to my feet. My eyes scan the area and I still see no sign of Phoenix. My heart starts to beat faster, what if he is already dead. He can't be, though, I need him. Without him I'm alone and I can't be alone, not in here. Panic begins to bubble inside me, replacing what had only been confusion and nerves. This is real, this is happening. People are dying, people are killing. Phoenix could be next, I could be next.

I look back to where I saw the boy's body fell but the fog has swallowed it entirely. From here I am unable to see where this space leads to, all I can see is grey, misty fog. I make a split second decision to head back where I came. I have to find Phoenix, we promised to stay together.

A hand grasps my shoulder and I jump, a gasp escaping from my lips as I twirl around to see Phoenix standing behind me. Before I can help myself I have launched into his arms, squeezing him tightly around the waist for several seconds before he awkwardly places his arms around me. I realize I have tearstains on my cheeks when I pull away from Phoenix and there is a water mark on his stomach. "I didn't know where you were."

He shushes me and I hug him once more, faster this time so that he doesn't even have time to react to me. He breaks the silence between us after mere seconds. "Did you get any supplies?"

I shake my head sadly and he looks down at his own empty hands. I presume he didn't try and head for the Cornucopia either, he must have been in the rush of people that headed right for the door just like I was.

"I'm going back in."

As fast as I can I grab onto his wrist and try to pull him back towards me. He can't go back, he can't leave me alone out here. Someone could still be in there, someone that could kill him. I don't want him to die. Not so soon when we have just found each other. "No!"

"We don't have anything," he insists, his voice suddenly changing to a more demanding tone that forces me to let go of him. "I'll be fast, just stay here."

I nod my head quickly, not allowing myself to shed another tear. My Father will be watching, he will be displeased that I am acting this way. Like a child, like a young child that knows no better. I quickly wipe the tears from my face as Phoenix disappears into the fog towards the starting room. The running of his feet against the wooden floor reaches my ears and I hold my breath. I shouldn't stay here, I should go with him. But if I know I should go, why am I so scared to? I force myself to take a step forward but then freeze, a voice cutting through the fog so clearly that I feel as though they could be right beside me.

It's an older male voice, I don't recognize it but I can recognize it might be a Career from the overconfident tone. "Get me some rope!"

My heart stops and I remain frozen where I stand. They know he's in there, they've already found him. He's going to die. They're going to kill him and there's nothing I can do about it. My mind understands this but still my feet begin to move towards the sounds of clanging metal, starting slowly before breaking into a sprint.

I run into the Cornucopia room to the sound of metal, whimpers, and laughter. I scan the room as quickly as I can, noting the many people still within it, and find Phoenix within seconds. Rope binds his hands and feet together as strong arms grab his angular body and toss it forcefully against the side of the metal Cornucopia with a loud bang. My body shivers as he is picked up again and again, thrown into the metal with a cry and a crash as laughter rings out between the older Careers. No one even seems to notice me as I stand at the door of the room, subconsciously moving towards Phoenix with tiny steps.

"Another one!" One of the males bellows and my feet feel frozen. I will myself to run but find I am unable. Just before the tall boy reaches me I find movement again, backing up quickly until I hit the wall and then sliding to the floor with my body curled in on itself. The only sounds I can hear are the beating of my heart, the raspy breaths that escape my lips, and the telltale footsteps that make no effort to come any faster towards me.

Strong arms grab me harshly and pull me from the floor, walking me over to where the others in his alliance stand with smirks waiting for him. The tribute holding me throws me against a nearby crate that I hit hard with my shoulder. A scream escapes my mouth no matter how hard I try to hold it in.

I know I am going to die, but I will not embarrass my Father. I will not cry, I will not scream. I will be strong, he will be proud of me even if I don't return home as I know he wants me to.

The only girl that I can see comes at me with a rope, tying my arms and chest to the crate I had landed against. She pulls the rope tight and I whimper, her smirking face so close to mine that I can feel the warmth of her breath against my cheek. I close my eyes so that I don't have to look at her, but she backs away and the chill returns to my body.

"Is he dead?" One of the males asks and the one that looks to be their leader shrugs.

"There are no cannons yet, who knows," he says before motioning to one of the boys with a wave of his hand. "Quartz, deal with him."

The boy that has been addressed pulls a long wooden stick from his own backpack and walks towards the spot where Phoenix lay limply. I will myself to close my eyes, as I know what will come next, but for some reason I am unable to even breathe. Quartz takes a running start and brings the stick down hard on Phoenix's head with a sickening thump, leaving a distinguishable dent in his head. Blood begins to run from his lips and I force myself to look away. I will not cry. I will not embarrass my Father. I will be strong.

"Who's going to kill her, Quintus?" I hear the girl asks the leader and he eyes me with a dark smile.

"Figure it out yourselves," he says somewhat distractedly and starts walking towards the other side of the Cornucopia where muffled, female voices can be heard. The remaining three Career tributes look at each other in silence for a while, seeming as though they were speaking through their minds at each other. Each of them looks at me many times, but their eyes always return to the group. No one makes a move towards me, but I know they will. I know they'll come and they'll kill me, they just can't decide who will do the deed.

I concentrate solely on my own breaths, keeping them even as I sit there waiting. Only once do I make the mistake of looking up, but when I do I see him. My ally, the only true friend I have ever had, lying dead just metres from my feet. His eyes are almost fully closed, with just bits of white standing out against his skin, but I can still remember the warmth they held when just a few moments ago he hugged me and reassured me that he would protect me. Now he lies dead at the feet of children his age, five or six years older than me, and they don't even care. They stand whispering in a room full of weapons to choose who will kill me. They are monsters, and they will be celebrated. No one will celebrate Phoenix, no one will remember me. But these, these, _beasts_ will be cherished even in death. They are in the Capitol's game, just like the rest of us. But the difference is they know how to play, and they play to win.

I cannot win against them, I cannot even try. They have killed Phoenix, and they laugh. They will kill me and they will not cry. And that is what the Capitol wants, they want the perfect Victor that they can control and show off. They don't want the underdog to win, and they will do everything they can to make sure they don't. Not like last year, when a young girl from Three won. No, they want to make up for that. They will not have an imperfect Victor, they will not have a Victor that feels for the people they kill.

I was going to die the moment my name was chosen. Only now am I finally realizing this.

My gaze moves between the arguing Career pack and the corpse of my best friend, and I feel the tears begin to form again. This time, though, I don't force them away. Instead I allow them to coat my face, running down my neck and splashing on my jumpsuit. I let my shoulders shake with the sobs that I have held back for my entire life. This time, my lips do not press back the cries that come forth, they welcome them.

For the first time in my life, I scream. A childish, breaking scream that echoes through the arena. I scream for the life that never really began. I scream for the people that have died before me, and for the people that will die after me. I scream because I was always told that I should hold back my emotions, I scream to finally feel free.

My eyes open and a female figure stands in front of me with a blank demeanor, a smile glued on her face but no real emotion behind it. A knife dangles from her fingertips but this time I do not pretend to not care. I face the girl behind the weapon with tear filled eyes and a broken expression. Her knife twitches in the air before it descends upon me, the tip diving straight into my chest. I scream again, but this time it is not to feel the freedom I was never given. This time I scream because I am still young. No matter what I have been brought up to believe, no matter the things I have been told to ignore and improve, I am only a child and children feel pain.

_I'm sorry, Father. I know you will not be proud of me. _

* * *

**A/N- **And that's all for the bloodbath. Eight tributes down, fifteen to go ;D

19th- Magic Ayerzuela, District Eight Male - Killed by Tyrion Pond, District Seven Male

18th- Phoenix Whitter, District Six Male - Killed by Quartz Van Puten, District One Male

17th- Greylyn Conway, District Six Female - Killed by Cassiterite Vellumptuai, District Two Female


	36. We're Only Animals, After All

**A/N- **First chapter after the bloodbath! I hope you all enjoyed the first three chapters of the Games, I'm sure you'll like what's to come ;D

* * *

**Spark Themis, District Three Female**

**Day One Evening**

___**Chaos In Her Wake**_

* * *

_I jump off my plate a fraction of a second before the gong sounds. As I land heavily, I brace myself for the explosion, for my life to end before the Games have even started. Ironic, isn't it? All I want to do is live, escape, but I'm going to be blown to bits because I tried to run too early. Coward._

_But the mines don't go off, I may have jumped before the gong but by the time I landed the mines were disabled. Lucky, lucky me. The others are charging to the golden Cornucopia in the center of the room or fleeing to the doors. The flames on the torches flicker in the wake of the tributes. I quickly get up off my knees and look around. A tiny bundle of food sits not too far from my metal plate, and I hurry to grab it, the huge ugly backpack from the Gamemakers bouncing on my shoulders. There are other tributes in sight, but they've pulled their weapons out of their bags and are beginning to fight. No one notices the girl crouched over near the metal plates. _

_I suppose it also helps that the mouth of the Cornucopia, where the best goodies always are, is facing the other way._

_I back up slowly, making sure none of the fighters spot me until I'm safely- well, relatively safely- at the door. Other runners are disappearing through doors, but I'm alone here._

_And the stupid door won't open. There's not a sensor telling the thing to open because hey, this girl might want to live! I can't slide it aside, push or pull it open, or even break through it. Pfft. Like I could break down a metal door._

_Looking up, I see a small timer counting down. Three forty-seven, it currently reads. What's that, the time I have left to live?_

_More like the time until the door opens. And if this door isn't opening for another three minutes and forty three seconds, I'm screwed. But looking out at the melee in the center of the room and seeing that going to the next open door would put me right in the line of sight of the Careers, I freeze up. I will stay in my shadows where it's safe, thank you very much._

_I press myself against the doorframe, which gives me some sense of security. The torches don't send good light straight down, they illuminate the middle of the room. So I'm fairly hard to spot. Of course, being skinny enough to wedge myself into a crack like this doesn't hurt. The one time being underfed is actually useful. In the Hunger Games. I snort. Figures._

_The clock is at one minute seven seconds when the battle starts heading my way. The boy from Seven, Tyrion, strides around the corner with a bow that's already nocked. I try my very hardest to disappear into the wall._

_"I saw you out here, don't bother hiding!" he growls. My heart skips a beat. I'm going to die. This boy is going to kill me less than five minutes into the Games. I haven't even made it out of the bloodbath room._

_A patch of shadow about four meters to my right shifts and suddenly the boy from Eight is running as quickly as he can to the open door. I hadn't even noticed him before, he's got his backpack up covering his face and I'm sure he was cowering behind the dark material before._

_It's too hard to run with a shield so the boy- Magic, I remember- slings the pack over his shoulder. Tyrion grins, hollers some sort of evil battle cry, and fires his arrow._

_"You tried! You tried to get away!" the boy from Seven calls out, sounding almost drunk on his own adrenaline… and battle. Funny, I never remember him being so murderous before._

_Magic sinks to his knees, doubling over his stomach. I can see the fletching on the end of the arrow's shaft, but only a few inches more protrude. The rest is sunk deep in Magic's flesh._

_The boy's not gone yet. He moans, tilting his head back in agony. His eyes open wide and I can see a sheen of sweat on his forehead._

_Tyrion simply walks up to him. I can't tear my gaze away as he rips the arrow out of Magic's stomach. Then he's turning towards me and I almost slam my head against the door in a frantic attempt to hide myself again. But the boy from Seven turns back to the Cornucopia._

_Magic lets out an eerie, keening wail and then his gurgling shallow breaths stop. He's dead. I actually just saw someone get murdered. I mean, sometimes Magic was a bit creepy in the way he looked around at everyone during training and stuff, like he was trying to read your mind or something, but he didn't deserve that._

_The door slides open and I run._

With my back pressed against a cold stone wall and my knees pulled up to my chest, I shiver violently at the memories of the bloodbath. Waves of nausea come up my torso, but I manage (barely) to hold everything down. I'm not losing everything I ate in the Capitol this early in the Games, I'll need it later.

I saw a kid die.

I saw a kid kill.

Every time I close my eyes I see Magic's body, curled up on the ground, just a shell of the guy who was shot in the ankle at the reapings. At least he was alive then. I never met him, not really, I didn't even pay attention to his interview. But he's dead now.

My shivering turns to full-on shaking. Even my teeth are clacking together like broken gears.

I stand up and start pacing, trying to get my body under control again. Chills run up my spine every few seconds and my fingers are trembling, but it helps a lot. Distractions. I need distractions. Just preferably not a confrontation with some other tributes. Or a mutt. Yeah, no thanks.

I glance around at my surroundings. I came out of the massive Cornucopia room and dashed right into the first hiding place I saw- a small stone hut. Now, slightly less hysterical, I examine the area. The hut is pretty short, only about a foot of height above my head. The walls are poorly cut blocks of stone, the ceiling is thatched straw, and the only furnishings in the place are two rickety wooden chairs and a stout, uneven wooden table. No place to sleep, no bathroom.

Guess I don't get to brush my teeth while I'm here.

Guess I'll die with dragon breath. Oh well.

I turn to my packs and go to explore their contents with single minded determination. I can't let Magic's death get to me. Freaking out is a good way to get myself killed, and I sorta want to avoid that. Then again, I also want to avoid becoming an emotionless killing machine. What's the middle ground here? An emotional calm killer? Does that exist? Not that I know of.

The bundle of food provides me with two packets of hard, chewy biscuits, a small tin of dried fruit, and a package of not-very-strong painkiller tablets. Not a good haul, but it'll keep me alive for a few days. Water would be nicer, though.

I look at the large floppy pack that contains my weapon. Ugh. A staff would be wonderful, seeing as it's the only weapon I've trained with. I might actually be able to keep people from killing me if I had one. But the Capitol probably hates me and with my luck, I've got a cheese grater or a pencil sharpener.

I sigh and open up the pack, reaching in carefully in case there's some sort of blade waiting for me to slice open my hand on it.

I find a smooth, curved handle. It feels like it could be a useful weapon. Eagerly, I yank it out of the sack.

An umbrella. A big, dark green umbrella.

They gave me a stupid umbrella. I open and close it furiously, almost clipping my glasses the first time my 'weapon' snaps open.

How am I supposed to fight with this stupid thing? Seriously, how? The end of my dumb umbrella- hey, dumb umbrella, like dumbrella or something- is slightly pointy. I guess it could be a stabby weapon if I really jabbed hard. I could bludgeon someone with it, like a little old lady.

That thought sends me into hysterical giggles. Oops, I guess I'm still shaken up from the bloodbath.

I unhappily upend the giant sack my dumbrella came in, pointlessly hoping for something else.

To my surprise, I actually get something. A scroll of paper, which I quickly snatch up and unroll. This is much more helpful than the weapon. It's a map, and what else could it be a map of but the arena? I grin as I locate the huge Cornucopia hut and the much smaller huts right beside it. Hey, if I can't fight, I can run and not get lost. Very nice. I wonder if they gave these to any other losers with stupid weapons.

I tuck the food, painkillers, and map into the giant sack and use the small piece of rope that the supplies were tied together with to hold the bulky backpack in more of a roll. The dumbrella I hook around my wrist by the curved handle. There's a lot of places to go yet.

I step out of the hut into what's probably the best setting for a ghost story ever. Ramshackle, mismatched huts are scattered around like some dopey little village, but a knee-deep mist swirls around the huts. I can't see the ground, even with the help of torches held in sconces on the outer walls of the huts.

I can't see too far into the distance as evening is falling fast, so I decide to go back to the Cornucopia room and scavenge what I can. If there are people, I'll get the heck out of there.

I reach the door and freeze. I can hear faint voices- but strong and angry voices. The Career pack, it has to be. They always favor the Cornucopia as a camp. By now they'll have scoured the room for tributes and extra supplies.

Food and drink aren't the only survival necessities I can glean from this room. I can eavesdrop on the Careers and stay one step ahead. I can stay alive.

"So what have we got going for us now?" I can't quite identify the speakers, but these guys have the same way of thinking. It probably doesn't matter.

"Well, honey, you've got absolutely nothing going for you with blood caked under your nails like that." Okay, well, that's Cassiterite or Allure, joking around. The Pack laughs.

"We have to go hunting tomorrow."

"Yeah, with a bloodbath like that we need to knock out a few other targets right away."

"Hey, come on, we killed. What else are you looking for?" That sounds more like Jem Show, he was always the most human of the group.

"More of that. We lost Lush and she was worth more than you. So we need to kill off the outsiders as quickly as possible."

They lost Lush Thistle? I never expected that, and I didn't see her fall during the bloodbath. It's better for me that she's dead. If she were alive I would be in much more danger. I'm relieved but disgusted with myself for feeling good.

Hey, human instincts, right? Sometimes you're glad for them and sometimes you've just gotta hate them.

"She was worth more than me? I got a high training score and plenty of sponsors, I can hold my own! She died, I didn't!"

"Look, I can make sure that you die too if you don't shut your ugly mouth right now. We'd still get the sponsor money."

Well, look at them, they're one big happy murderous family. With a little bit of domestic violence on the side. I could vomit.

"We need a plan for tomorrow. How will we hunt?" That's a quieter voice, but it's a girl. Maybe it's the one from Eight who inexplicably made it with the Pack. That still confuses me.

"Spread out. We've got to spread out. Cover as much ground as we can. Did anyone see where the targets went?" There's no answer. "Well, if none of you idiots paid attention to the runners, we'll have to go in pairs to make sure that you don't get surprised by someone who could take you out. District partners go together." That's definitely Cassiterite.

I hear someone mutter, "Hey, you didn't see them either." I can't tell how the main speaker reacts, but they don't audibly reply. Wow, the bloodbath has really affected this group. After the interviews I waited a little ways down the corridor and listened in on them- well, I hope it doesn't become a habit- and they seemed way more put together. It's like they weren't quite ready for this, or maybe they've still got that rage and adrenaline in their systems from the bloodbath.

"And that means that Quintus and Dakota will go as a pair too? Since Lush died?"

"Yeah, whatever. If we need to we can change the plan in the morning if someone has a better idea," Quintus says.

I can almost imagine the arrogance in the gaze of the Career leader as no one challenges the plan. There, look, they're showing some of their previous unity.

I listen for a few moments more, but no one says anything else of value. Their plans are so vague. I scowl. There's not a lot of real information there at all. Lush is dead, they'll be hunting in pairs and covering as much ground as they can. Ugh. I can't avoid them like that.

Leaving the Cornucopia room doors and moving back in among the misty paths between the small huts, I try and pick a new hiding spot. This will be one of the first areas the Careers come to in the morning and, needless to say, I don't want to be here when that happens.

I grab my supplies from the stone, straw-roofed hut and move on, ducking into each tiny building for a moment to see if there's anything of use there. The only thing I notice in the whole village is that the huts are never the same. Some are wooden, some have corrugated tin roofs, some are rectangular, some are round, some even have two rooms. Those are few and far between, though. Stone and thatch seem to be the predominant building materials.

Finally, there's something of worth in one of the last buildings I check. It's one of the two-roomed huts, made of stone with a sagging wooden roof. On the wall of the back room are several large touchscreens that blink on when I brush my fingers across them. At first there's just a map like the one I have on my paper, but it shifts from a simple outline to a full picture of the arena. I can zoom in on different sections, and while I can't tell where tributes are, I can find some likely places.

There are several forested parts: one looks like a swamp with smaller and fewer trees; one just looks _dark_, like some sort of everlasting night. There are some little cabins there that look a lot more comfortable than the huts. Then there's a section that's like a monkey paradise. All the arena parts there are in the treetops, and all the undergrowth is thorns. There are rope bridges between the trees and a few wooden platforms.

One of the other sections is a graveyard. I shudder. I will do everything in my power to stay out of that section- there are too many things a Gamemaker could do with that to break my determination.

Spinning the picture of the arena around, I'm struck by something odd. There's a section here that's not on my paper map. It's underground, and the entrances look pretty well disguised. That's a really good place to hide from any threats, but I bet there are some creepy mutts down there.

I won't go down there for long if at all. Stuck alone in the dark, below the surface of the earth… I gulp. I would freak out.

I tap the section with the ramshackle huts, trying to see what sorts of things I could find out from this interactive map. If there are tributes here, even a live feed.

Nothing of that nature, luckily. I wouldn't want someone else watching me like that.

Wait. This is televised. Silly me.

A short list pops up on the screen. _Mutts: Traps: Climate: Weather. _I tap weather, not wanting to get myself into any serious trouble. The list disappears and is replaced with a control panel, showing percentage of cloud cover, amount of precipitation, temperature, wind, etc.

I crank up the cloud cover stats, all the way to eighty percent. A blanket of gray covers the sky within a few minutes, and I shudder. I've got mist on both sides now and no rain. I dial up the precipitation and the clouds grow darker and darker. A crack of thunder and then rain pours down. I pop my head outside and grin up at the sky. My glasses are speckled with rain, but I don't care. I have power now.

I turn off the rain and push the clouds back to fifty percent. There are other things I can do besides control the weather. I transfer to the treetop bridge section and press 'traps'. _Grow thorns: snap rope: rot platform._ Tapping the 'snap rope' sends me back to the section map with all the ropes highlighted. I choose one bridge close to the edge of the section connecting two trees that are both platformless. _Authorize: _it blinks at me for a few seconds. How do I authorize this? What does it even mean in this context?

I angrily swipe my whole palm from left to right across the screen, jumping back as my action brings up another list. _Cancel: Continue_ I shrug, choosing continue. _Action authorized. Please pause while map is updating._ The original map pops up again, but when I tap on the treetop section the picture of the bridge I selected actually shows a snapped rope.

I could kill people doing this. I could kill people and I wouldn't even have to see them die to do it. It's a tempting thought.

Thinking of Tyrion and Magic, I take my hands off the screen. After the bloodbath today, I don't even want to think about killing another person. I suppose I will when the time comes- I'm only animal, after all. But right now I have a choice and I'm choosing to keep my hands clean. I have the power, but I'll only embroil myself in chaos if I use it too often. I run my hands through my short, dark blonde hair, pushing it back off my forehead.

I know that killing changes a person beyond repair, and I want to be myself when I die. So for now I'll try not to kill anyone.

I also know I won't sleep well tonight, so I'll be able to clear out of my control panel room before the Pack comes lumbering through. And I want to see who else was killed today. Magic, Lush, but there are others that I want to mourn if they are lost. Wyatt, first of all. Greylyn. The kids from Eleven, Cyrus and Elliah. I feel pretty awful for not caring earlier if they were dead or alive. I'll only find out at the playing of the anthem tonight.

Then again, who would expect me to notice little kids when I was busy staying alive myself? I'm only animal, after all.


	37. Cabin Fever

**A/N- **Here's the beginning of Day Two! Thanks for all your support so far, enjoy this chapter :D

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**Dakota Phillips, District Eight Female**

**Day Two Morning**

_**ImmyRose**_

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_Silence. There's complete silence as I survey my surroundings_

_Nobody seems to be around, nobody that's alive, anyway. The boy from District Eleven, Cyrus, is dead, the cut to his throat resembling a careless slash across a dolly back in District Eight with red cotton spilling out, almost decapitating Cyrus as his head leans back. The blood's spread out over his chest like a handkerchief while his black eyes are void of anything, not even the fear that I knew must have been present when he had died. The cleaver that had been his assigned weapon was still held firmly in his hand. _

_Near the Cornucopia, Sparrow lies motionless on the ground with her temple partially caved in. Like with Cyrus, her eyes were also vacant. Over the other side of the room, the boy from District Five is slouched against the wall, a bloody hole in the center of his throat almost mimicking the shocked, wide-mouthed expression on his face. There's a ribbon of dried blood snaking around both sides of his neck like a mockery of the bow tie he wore for his interviews. The Five boy's mouth is twisted into a feral smile, startling white teeth bared at me._

_The wooden floor is stained carmine red sporadically around the Cornucopia, some of the blood still fairly recent. Looking around cautiously, I walk over to where the timer is situated. It's been switched off, but the doors still remain shut, and remain unrelenting even when I try to force it open._

_"That's not going to help you." The voice comes from behind me and when I turn around, I'm face to face with a familiar figure leaning against the Cornucopia, casually sitting on the crate and resting his feet against the corpse of Greylyn who lies underneath him. _

_"M-magic?" He looks fine, nothing like what he had looked like the last time I had seen him. Pale skin, dark red hair, gangly frame, he looks almost the exact same as he had done in the Capitol. However, his eyes are as soulless and black as the corpses lying around the room, like buttons. I was used to him looking at me with that judgmental glint in his blue eyes that slated me as nothing higher than a shallow, narcissistic bitch, the same as what most people looked like when they stared at me. Much as I didn't appreciate that, it had at least been a sign of human emotion on his part._

_"Stating the obvious, are you now?" Magic's voice isn't the same either. It's too monotone, absolutely lacking in the hesitant stutter he had always maintained when discussing fashion statements with me, "Aren't you supposed to be clever, Dakota? That's why you acted like you did back in District Eight, isn't it? You didn't want to take the chance that your lowly district partner might have figured out your little act and ruin you, huh? Bet that worked out for you, didn't it? I _died_ before you, because all I happened to be was stupid Magic. Silly Magic who couldn't even talk properly. Idealistic Magic who tried to defy the Capitol instead of joining their trained mutts like you did. Naive Magic who thought dying as himself would be better than playing by their rules. I was no threat to you"_

_I back away from him, disturbed by the casual way in which he talks about himself in the past tense. He looks entirely at ease, even kicking his legs against the crate, not caring that he occasionally hits Greylyn's body. My free hand is pressed against the door, willing for it to open. I hadn't wanted Magic dead, I really hadn't. Okay, I had been nervous about Magic before; he might remember a time from before I put up this mask to hide behind and figure out my plan in no time, but I hadn't hated him, "I'm not s-supporting them. I just w-want to live."_

_"No, they're just using your life as bait. You're going to lose everything for them, Dakota, and it'll all be in vain. You're nothing, just someone that will try and fail at winning, already knowing that there's no escape from here." He's kicking Greylyn's head with more intensity, letting her head hit the side of the crate with a muted thudding sound before repeating the motion, "Aren't you supposed to be smart?" He repeats, "How can you keep denying this when you see what happened to your sister? She's just a shell, like you are now."_

_His words cause irritation to spark up inside of me. I wasn't some empty shell. I had a purpose - to stay alive. Sure, I hadn't used the last few years of my life as I had really wanted to, but it would all be for the best when I could escape the sadistic game that had haunted my family for too long, and finally be known as someone outside of "Tabitha's sister". I would finally have an identity. Exasperated, I throw up my hands, "I am not my sister! Why can't anyone else just see that I ha - "_

_Before I can comprehend what has happened, Magic's throat is pierced with a single arrow with a sickening thwack sound, the feathers slick with crimson. It's only then when I feel the curve of the bow against my hands that I realise that I had shot him. He barely has enough time to widen his eyes before his body falls to the side, his head still partially turned towards mine with bloody teeth bared at me._

_"Good Dakota," he wheezes, causing more blood to dribble out of his mouth, "Good dog, jumping when they say jump, killing when they say kill. Good doggie, good princess - "_

"Come on then, Princess, wake up!"

Before I have the chance to actually do anything, I'm kicked in the thigh repeatedly until I roll over and open my eyes, making sure to shoot daggers at Quintus who's smirking at me. That nightmare plus his use of the patronising endearment irritate me enough that I barely have to think about the words that escape my mouth, "Do you mind? You're interrupting my beauty sleep here!"

Quintus leans down, disregarding the fact that he was invading my personal space, "I don't think you need that, Princess." He murmurs in an almost seductive way before he reverts back to his usual self, "Now hurry up. We need to go hunting and you're wasting time here."

Oh yeah, me and Quintus were hunting partners. I couldn't exactly say that this filled me with joy; Quintus wasn't exactly what you'd call friendly or affable, but since Lush was dead, I was the only option Quintus had. I wasn't entirely sure why the Careers had decided that splitting up the hunting groups into district partners - for the most part - was a good idea; it just made the option of splitting from the group that much easier. Quartz and Allure had made no secret of the friendship they had cultivated over the days we had been in the Capitol, while Cassie and Jem also seemed to share a bond with each other, although that seemed more precarious than with the District One tributes.

However, I wasn't the one in charge, and I was fully aware of the fact that if there was a hierarchy in this alliance, I would reside firmly at the bottom of it, so I doubted they would take my opinion into account, "Can I at least tidy up my hair first?"

"No, and if you don't start moving, I'll drag you there." Knowing he isn't bluffing, I wriggle out of the sleeping bag and rub my eyes free of any sleep before I grab my assigned weapon - a pitchfork - and stand up, "Which direction are we going in again?"

"Towards the forest. I'd bring a flashlight along, but don't use it unless you have to; don't want the other tributes to notice us first."

I nod, grabbing the flashlight as he takes a backpack I know has those two bricks of his in them, before walking off without preamble. Pouting, I glare at him, hands on my hips, "Excuse me, a little warning would be nice!"

"Excuse me, I'm in charge!" He mimics my tone of voice viciously, "You'd do well to remember that." Quintus doesn't spare me another glance before continuing to walk off, leaving me to fuss over the calluses on my fingers loudly for a few seconds before I shove the flashlight in my backpack and follow, pitchfork in hand.

I cling onto it tightly as we venture past the abandoned huts that surround the Cornucopia area, although the mist is thick enough that my hands are barely visible. Despite the numerous possibilities for hiding out in one of these huts, Quintus completely ignores each one of them, choosing to persevere towards the bare trees I can just about make out in the distance due to the torches that each hut had.

"Couldn't anybody hide out in these cabins?" I inquire calmly, gesturing to the weird mix of huts that didn't seem to coordinate with each other whatsoever. One hut was barely higher than Quintus was, constructed out of corrugated iron, and was completely dwarfed by a dilapidated wooden cabin next to it with a roof that looked far too big for the cabin itself; the roof almost obscured the windows entirely, "Like, it would take us ages to find anyone here."

"Nobody would dare camp out here," Quintus replies, his voice dripping with confidence, "They're barely a stone's throw away from where I am. Who would want to be near me in the Games?"

How arrogant, I think to myself, presuming that nobody would take the risk of hiding out nearby and stealing the supplies just because he was there. That wasn't the smartest attitude to have towards the Games, but if he underestimated everyone because of that, it wasn't my problem. I wish I had a little bit of his self-assured manner though. It might help alleviate the unsettling feeling that this place was giving me, like it wasn't just me and Quintus here. It was like someone was watching me from behind one of these cabins, even if I couldn't see anyone, and was waiting for its chance to strike. I remember the dead, emotionless eyes of Magic from earlier this morning and, subconsciously, I hold the pitchfork tighter, knowing it was the only thing I could use to defend myself in a direct confrontation.

I've been accustomed with this weapon for several hours, and I'm still not entirely sure how I can use this effectively in a fight. The sharp prongs on the fork allow me to inflict some damage on anyone that tried to attack me, but it felt cumbersome in my hand as I walked along, like dead weight. I wasn't used to not knowing how to do something; anything that required mental - as opposed to physical - power had always been something I had been good at. I could remember being back in my room as if I had been there just yesterday, absorbing as much information as I could from the pages spread out before me.

The Capitol had their fair share of theory leaflets on how to use weaponry, with neat diagrams on how to hold them efficiently and a few tips on common attack and defense tactics that you could use which I had read about during training, but that seemed completely irrelevant now when it came to reality. I might know how to use a staff or a spear or swing a sword around, but it became immediately obvious to me that you actually needed some strength to apply those tactics properly.

It might have been better for me if I had ended up with a safety pin. I could have smeared some poison on that, 'accidentally' stab one of my allies with it during a hunt or while they were asleep and destroy the Careers from the inside-out that way, and it wouldn't have looked suspicious. On the other hand, nobody was going to believe me if I 'slipped' and poked them with this pitchfork, were they? They'd end up using that as a reason to get rid of me. Oh, and one of the stronger outer-district tributes - such as Nex or Loken - might decide that attacking me and taking the pitchfork would be a good idea for gaining a decent weapon easier, and I wouldn't be in much of a position to fend them off. Nobody would find me intimidating enough to back off, regardless of my weapon.

"In here." Quintus barks, snapping me out of my thoughts while gesturing towards an ordinary-looking hut that is made up of a mismatch of building materials. The roof looks like it's about to cave in on itself. In fact, the entire cabin looks as if it's taken a beating, with the walls dented inwards and the windows being cracked slightly. Those things I could make out from a distance, but the mist - which was even higher here than it had been around the Cornucopia - was probably obscuring its more sinister features. In any case, I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hide out there after what we had experienced back in the Capitol. I didn't even want to go near it, although since Quintus had insisted, I didn't have much room to object.

Further inspection when I get closer and the mist dissipates shows that I'm right to be put off by this. I make sure that I turn away and pretend to gag, "This. Is. Disgusting. That stench could kill me."

"You are utterly ridiculous." Quintus sneers, grabbing the door handle and twisting it before I can beat him. One thing I've learned about this compassionate, charming boy was that he was rather extreme about proving his superiority over others at every possible moment. He probably couldn't bear the thought of having me be the first one to be inside this cabin, regardless of what was inside.

"How can you touch that? That door handle is gross. It looks like it's rotting!" I complain, turning my nose up at the handle that is coated in a layer of mould, with some cobwebs tastefully hanging off it. Quintus flicks his fingers - and a few specks of dirt - in my direction, causing me to squeal as I start dusting off my clothes, "Eww!"

He sniggers at my apparent discomfort before he peers into the room. I manage to get a good look at the half-collapsed chair and tatty rug that inhabited the cabin for a few seconds before Quintus slams the door shut, "Nothing in there. Next cabin."

Well, I could have told Quintus about the four spots on the floor equidistant to each other that were less dusty than the rest of the floor near the chair. That indicated that somebody had moved the chair fairly recently, although it was obvious they had left now. There was a pretty good chance that they were still around this area somewhere, although this didn't help us much due to the random number of cabins scattered around everywhere in this section of the arena. I don't say anything, figuring that Quintus wouldn't consider this little bit of information to be relevant, and even if he did, I didn't want to see Quintus kill again. The image of him smashing Sparrow's skull in at the bloodbath has made me more reluctant to condemn anyone else to Quintus' brutality.

"Weren't you listening, Princess? I said, next cabin." He reiterates, sounding irritated, and I comply, weaving through the leafless trees that were starting to pop up more frequently than the cabins were to the next hideout; a simple-looking wooden hut that didn't look to be in bad condition. Okay, there were a few cobwebs visible and there was a very off-putting decaying smell that was even more prominent here, but aside from that, it looked like a passable location to camp in.

When we open the door and step inside, I'm surprised to see that the furniture in here resembles a house more than the last hut did. There's a couple of chairs scattered around with a coffee table near the left corner, although the quality of the furniture is hidden by the dim lighting. One thing I could definitely see was the black shadow that was a few metres away from us, something I presumed to be a screen that's used to create privacy in a room without building a wall.

"Doubt anyone's here either," I whisper, not because I figured that anyone here would hear me, but because this cabin, enclosed and poorly-lit as it was, put me on edge.

"Don't be so stupid," Quintus then laughs, realising that he was talking to me here - the queen of stupidity, "There might be a tribute hiding behind that thing that's probably pissing themselves right now in fear. Come on."

Without any warning, the door slams shut behind us. Under any other circumstances, this wouldn't be a terribly unusual thing, except for the fact that this part of the arena wasn't notorious for having strong breezes capable of shutting doors like that. That could only mean two things: either another tribute had sneaked up behind us and shut the door - which wouldn't make much sense tactically-speaking - or the Gamemakers wanted to trap us both inside.

The shuffling of feet from behind the screen is enough for me to jump to the conclusion that we're supposed to fight here. Just to make sure of this, I try and open the door again, to no avail, "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh," I start hyperventilating, flapping my hands around as the dust covering the handle transfers to my own hand, "We're trapped and I got some of that stuff under my nails!"

"That's what you're worrying about? I shouldn't even be surprised." Quintus mutters as two figures emerge from behind the screen, shuffling mindlessly.

Both are around two metres high and look like they've been resurrected from the dead, with chalky skin and decaying bodies. They sport wounds that are still bleeding, leaving trails of blood on their bare arms and legs that were cut away to the bone in some areas, and the expressions on their faces are blank, empty of any reasoning outside killing us. Both of them start advancing towards us, the larger one targeting Quintus while the diminutive one heads towards me.

The one that's trying to kill me has a bundle of black hair piled on top of its' head and two black eyes. Pale blue veins are prominent under the pale skin and the mutt's neck is twisted at an unnatural angle that makes it look broken, meaning the mutt has its head tilted to state at me. It's the ring on the mutt's right finger, the ring that the President hands out to victors, that makes me recognise what this thing is supposed to be, and my suspicions are confirmed when I hear a tinny voice come from a radio that's sticking out of the space where an ear would usually go, "You're as useless as ever."

"Tabitha." I confirm out loud, not even bothering to phrase it as a question. Only a fool would think that this mutt was Tabitha in person. There's a shard of glass in her right hand, something I recognise from her Hunger Games, that's covered in grime. The germs on the weapon would probably be dangerous enough without treatment on its own.

Sensing my voice, she continues speaking, "You're just an unwanted brat nobody cares about." I have to admit that they had Tabitha's rude and judgmental nature down to a T, "Even if you win, you won't be rid of me. You'll always be the weak link in our family, the girl that will never amount to anything."

Pretending to be affected by her words, I gasp, "You can't mean that! We're supposed to be sisters, doesn't that mean anything?"

"Oh, but I do. I wish I was never related to you." Tabitha snarls, the impact of these supposedly shocking words lost slightly due to the static in the audio. It takes me a few seconds to swing the pitchfork in what is supposed to be a sudden movement, so she's able to avoid the worst of the attack, but I'm successful in digging the pitchfork deep into one of the open wounds and making the gap wider. However, I've put too much force into it and when I pull back, the pitchfork remains lodged in the Tabitha-mutt.

The mutt looks even more freakish with my weapon lodged several inches into her shoulder. Calmly, she yanks out the pitchfork with her free hand before clumsily striking it down. Instinctively, I flinch backwards, making sure to move slightly to the left as I do this so that the next strike doesn't hit me either. My movements pays off as the prongs slice a second time through thin air. Taking advantage of the mutt's lack of balance, I decide to go on the offensive again.

Ducking to avoid the pitchfork raised for the third attack, I charge straight for the mutt and slam myself into her, knocking the zombie to the floor. Before she can retaliate, I dig my nails into the arm wounds already made on the thing and pull, trying to ignore the lumps of clotted blood and the sticky sensation of fresh blood staining my skin. All I wanted was my weapon back and I don't stop until it drops the pitchfork. Still pinning the zombie down, I pick up the pitchfork, feeling a lot more confident now that I had a decent weapon again.

The ear-popping screeches the thing was emitting showed that this mutt could at least be hindered by pain. However, I had forgotten about the glass shard she possessed until I feel a sharp pinprick digging into the skin in my thigh. Yelping in pain, I withdraw my hand from where it had been tearing away at the mutt's arm and stab the pitchfork at the other arm and hand holding my thigh instead, relentlessly tearing away at the skin with no precision or logic used. All I knew was that this thing was trying to sabotage me from the inside out and that I had to stop it _right now_. I don't even realise that I've succeeded in gouging off her arm until the pitchfork scrapes the floorboards.

The sound of metal against wood is enough for me to realise I've been too vicious and ruthless for the cameras. If I didn't rectify this soon, people might start considering me as a threat earlier than planned. Quickly, I squeal in disgust, wiping my hands on Tabitha's clothes as I back away, figuring I probably had an advantage standing up as opposed to letting, "Ew, this isn't even sanitary!"

Quintus couldn't spare the energy or concentration to make a snide remark to my moaning; his relative was clearly proving to be a formidable opponent. I wasn't too surprised at this, since whatever relative they had modeled the zombie after was likely to have been trained as well as - if not better than - Quintus had, seeing as he came from a Career district.

The Tabitha-mutt picks up on this, "It only - " The radio - which had been awful to begin with - must have been damaged even more when I had slammed the mutt into the ground; I couldn't make out much of the message, " - ugly you are inside. You're horri - " A screech of static drowns out whatever she was saying for a few seconds, " - inside too."

It lunges with the glass shard towards my face, possibly in an attempt to disfigure my features to drive in its point more, but I weakly deflect it with the staff of my weapon. Now, if only I could rip off its other arm, then I'd be able to take it down with ease and without fearing for that filthy piece of glass to cause any more easily infected wounds inside my body. Unfortunately for me, Tabitha had never suffered any injuries on her right arm during her Games, none that the Gamemakers had oh-so-kindly replicated on her imposter, anyway.

Before I could fully process my actions - and thus have enough time to hesitate or have second thoughts - I rake the pitchfork straight over her right eye, clumsily dragging the nails in my weapon deep enough into the fabric that the eye is ripped right off. For a second, I'm distracted by the red flesh of the eye-socket that was now weeping blood. There's another screech, but this doesn't deter me from sticking my fingers in the hole made. Almost immediately, I regret it as the screeching reaches a climax and the slimy feel of the body I was destroying pervades my fingers. It continues to protest, but I force myself to keep pushing deep into the mutt's head until it stops struggling and my hand is covered in unmentionable red gore.

Good riddance to that stupid mutt. If the Gamemakers thought I harboured such a tender, loving relationship with the sister I had barely managed a civil conversation with up until a few days ago that I would be traumatized by a mutt of her, they were sadly mistaken.

By Capitol standards, this mutt was poorly made and easy to kill, but I guess that was the point. It was only Day Two; they were just playing with us and building everything up to whatever finale they had planned, after all. We weren't human to them; our emotions were only things that should be messed with for their entertainment.

I raise the pitchfork weakly in the air in a poor attempt at showing my victory, but the sounds of Quintus' tormentor makes me realise that the danger had not quite passed, well, not for my ally.

Quintus seemed to be having more trouble with whatever person from his home life was attacking him than I had done. I didn't see this as an excuse to deem myself superior to him because I had overcome my challenge first. It was obvious from what little I was witnessing that this mutt was more skilled in fighting than the Tabitha-clone had been. Quintus kept trying to smash the brick he has into the mutt's skull but every time, the mutt just dodged, being lithe and swift. In comparison, Quintus looked like a small child being goaded on by a bully to try and fight them; pathetic and childish. With every punch that missed the zombie, it would just laugh and mock Quintus, which only spurred him on like some vicious circle. He had been cornered near the door and with only two bricks to defend himself against the mutt, he did look pretty hopeless.

I barely even think before I run up behind the other mutt and stab the pitchfork into the zombie's neck, spraying myself with a few more specks of blood and gore as it goes limp and collapses to the floor, revealing an irritated-looking Quintus in front of me.

"I didn't need your help."

"Oh, I know that. You're definitely better at this whole 'getting bloody and dirty and icky' thing than I am," I gush, "But, like, I thought it'd be easier, that's all. Why waste your energy on that mutt? It's totally not worth your time when you have the other tributes!"

The door quietly swings open on that last word, prompting Quintus to just grunt at me before he slams the door openly fully and storms out, still looking pissed off. I don't make any attempts to ask who that mutt was supposed to represent, choosing to complain about how fighting was so unladylike and how disgusting blood smelled and if he thought the cabins might have functioning showers until he tells me to shut up.

I had a funny feeling that those mutts were supposed to be easy to overwhelm, unless their stunning resemblance to our family and friends was supposed to affect us. Quintus and his pride must have taken a blow from needing my help to defeat his little challenge; it didn't say great things about his skills, not according to the Capitol. No wonder he seemed annoyed.

"Well Princess," he finally speaks after we've navigated our way back to the huts that surrounded the Cornucopia room, "Looks like you're not entirely useless." Quintus sounds worn out after his encounter with the mutt; it's the only reason I can think of as to why he only sounds slightly reluctant as he says this, "At least you're not completely worthless as a Career. Maybe you won't die off right away."

That last line was enough to send a chill down my spine. If he thought I wouldn't conveniently die off on my own, he might just take matters into his own hands and ensure the job was done personally. However, I pretend to ignore this subtle implication, choosing to clap in apparent delight, "Oh my gosh, that's, like, the nicest thing you've ever said to me! Go me!" I then stop suddenly, widening my eyes as if something had just occurred to me, "Wait, I take that back!"

"Why?" His green eyes are suddenly fixated on me, waiting for me to try and make a run for it so that he has an excuse to kill me and have two kills on his repertoire.

"My escort says Careers don't get any pudding," I reply with as much sincerity as I can muster, "And I really liked the ice cream I had back there."

"Really?" He scoffs, dismissing me once again as we approach the Cornucopia, "That's one thing I can safely tell you isn't true, Princess."

I huff with indignation as I storm away from him, wringing my hands in an attempt to get rid of the blood that splattered them. There was no shortage of water at the Cornucopia; I could use a bottle to wash up there.

My thoughts briefly reflect on the fight I had partaken in. My first fight, to be honest, and it wasn't as fun as some tributes in the Games made it out to be. Hunting with Quintus had been no picnic either. If I had a say in my hunting partner, I would have gone with Allure without a doubt. She was a lot easier to get along with than Quintus was, even if her resolve to stay strong was starting to waver ever since she had killed Lush. That didn't matter for now though, seeing as she remained to be the only Career that even remotely trusted me, which was all I needed. I was aware of the fact that none of the others trusted me, but for the most part, I'm ignored in the alliance by the other tributes aside from the occasional mocking remark about my obsession with appearances. That suited me fine; I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself outside being a way to gain sponsors for the alliance. Besides, the only real reason I had been considered for this alliance was because of Allure, so I needed to make sure that I didn't antagonise anyone else too much, and ensure that I kept being Allure's perfect little friend until I didn't need the Careers anymore.

For the fact that she had trained, she had been remarkably quick to open up to me, uncomfortably so. She hadn't been so open with her emotions around the other Careers aside from Quartz. That meant that she trusted me a lot more than the other Careers did, and it had to stay that way so that she'd defend me against them. While I was with this alliance, I could ensure that I had enough food and protection against the other tributes and mutts than if I was alone. Nobody would really want to target me if they made an attempt to attack the Careers, not when there were more threatening tributes here. What person would want to rank me as a threat above Quartz, Cassiterite and Quintus?

Right now, the only thing I needed to worry about was being turned on for being deadweight, so I had to tone down my annoying facade a little so that my seemingly incompetent ways wouldn't get me into deep water as quickly. Not that there weren't enough supplies to provide for all of us - especially since Lush had died - but I didn't want to rub it in their faces that there was an easy kill around if they wanted to increase their kill count by one for sponsors. Only Allure would raise any objections over my death and she wasn't exactly an authoritative figure in the pack either.

I had to admit that Allure's apparent regret over killing overs had unnerved me slightly. She had never openly showed any signs that she cared much about the other tributes before, or even that she had realised that she had to kill, seeing as she had never mentioned anything about it before the Games. It just made me wonder if I would turn out the same way if I ever ended up killing anyone.

No, of course you won't, I reassure myself. If I hadn't managed to open up to anyone else back home for four years, then I certainly wasn't going to start with anybody now. I had known these people for a week, maybe. That was hardly enough time to get to know anyone, not to mention that everyone around me could be lying about who they were.

I wouldn't have a problem with killing them quickly, I decide, and I'm sure that it wouldn't be too difficult to set up a little trap to kill off dear Quintus here. None of the other Careers would even dream of thinking I would try and lay a finger on our leader. They're right; I wouldn't attack him directly - for obvious reasons - but there was nothing stopping me from setting up my own trap in this segment of the arena. In fact, I could probably just attack him while he was distracted by a mutt and finish him off that way.

Mind you, the Gamemakers had already tried attacking Quintus with a mutt once. It was doubtful that they'd appreciate me mimicking what they had already done. Besides, that plan was too lacking in flair to be worth the effort, and my dramatic reveal in front of all of Panem just had to be spectacular. It was only fitting, seeing as this was Quintus I was plotting against here; our Almighty Leader needed to go out in style, didn't he?

It's funny, the tributes in the previous Games made plotting seem so much more dramatic than it actually was. Right now, I wasn't feeling too thrilled at the thought of stabbing Quintus in the back. Ah well, maybe the anticipation would seep in once I had a solid, concrete plan in my head. They did say that the journey was more fun than the actual event.

Obviously, I wasn't going to try and betray our benevolent and merciful leader just yet; it would be far too suspicious if he died on the very first or second hunting trip we went on together. It would be far better to wait until we had worked together a few times before I made my move. He might not think I was loyal enough to really open up to me yet - and he'd be right - but he probably figured that I wouldn't dare betray him and that I had been scared into killing that mutt for him.

In that case, it certainly wouldn't do to complain about Quintus while I was at it. That wouldn't bode well with absolving me of blame if I openly flaunted the fact that I didn't like him. Not to mention what Quintus might do to me if he found out I was even considering how his demise would be orchestrated. The image of Sparrow's skull being caved in when I had returned to the Cornucopia after the bloodbath comes to mind when I imagine Quintus' brutality and I shudder slightly.

By targeting him, I'm digging right into the heart of what keeps the Career alliance even vaguely functional. He's the only one that can and is willing to lead the Careers well enough that nobody is openly defying his instructions on a regular basis, not to mention that he's a massive threat, being the only tribute to receive a ten. Once he's dead, the collapse of the most dangerous alliance should soon follow. While the prospect of having more than one group of trained killers around wasn't promising, they would be a lot easier to pick off when they were on their own or in pairs. Well, easier than having four or five of them all at once, anyway.

If I had a say in it, then this entire alliance would be torn apart at the seams.


	38. The Lucky Ones

**A/N- **Not much to say, if you haven't done so already go over and vote on the poll, if you can please review. Yeah, enjoy this chapter! :)

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**Elliah Feren, District Eleven Female**

**Day Two Afternoon**

_**sgarnett99**_

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_If you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones  
Because most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.  
_-Daughter, _Youth_

* * *

"_Elliah, go!"_

His last words were wasted on me.

"Cyrus, come back," I mumble to myself. Though, it's not as if there's anyone around to hear me.

No, there are people around. They're watching me, but whether they can hear me… of that I'm uncertain.

Cyrus himself is closest to me. He doesn't say anything, just floats stoically, as if protecting me. When I talk to him he looks at me but doesn't respond. Greylyn, the small one, smiles at me. If anyone attacks, she'll do very little to protect me. But it's nice to have her here. Phoenix, her district partner, is here as well. So is Lush, the Career, Magic, the one who stuttered, Kilea, who volunteered, Sparrow, Cyrus's killer…all of them. All of the dead are here. Each one of them is special, though it's unlikely they knew I knew them. Perhaps if I didn't pay any attention to these people in the Capitol, they wouldn't be hovering over me like spirits. Of all the places they could go after death, they chose to protect me. Each tribute is so vivid.

None of them talk to me and sometimes some of them go away. But Cyrus stays here with me all the time. He is the only one.

"I wish you would talk to me, Cyrus," I say to his shimmery figure. He only smiles sadly, and with that smile come a thousand sad memories. Talking to him on the train. Watching his hallucinations curiously (perhaps I'm just as crazy as him now?), hugging him the night before the Games, laughing with him in training, teaching him to climb, learning to start fires and wield our little knives. The saddest memory of all is his death, of course. He promised it would be okay. If only we had planned differently!

If only _Cyrus _had been assigned to get the backpack I carry now!

Sparrow, I never had anything against her. We didn't talk, of course, but if we were on the same elevator I would nod at her respectfully. But then, during the bloodbath, she was slashing at Cyrus with the Career leader. It was as if they were allies. Any ignorant onlooker would have thought they were.

One merciful slash across his neck, two words (my name, _'go!'_), a piercing scream, a gurgle, a spurt of blood, a heart torn into a thousand pieces, a mind shattered, a young girl's sanity slipping out of her grasp like sand. Then it was over.

All in the space of a few seconds.

I won't make the mistake of trusting anyone anymore.

Maybe if I hadn't screamed, I wouldn't have alerted District Four. I wouldn't have had to run backward, tripping over the limp body of Kilea Fairbane (the girl who looked _so radiant_ at her interview) and accidentally staring into blank, unseeing eyes. I would not have a brick smashed with brute force into my nose.

When Quintus hit me with that brick, for a beautiful moment I thought I was dying. Stars exploded all over my vision and Cyrus appeared, smiling and without scars. It all came back (the terrifying _chaos_), however, far too quickly. Then I ran like mad, two backpacks slung over my back, wanting to get away from it all.

When I look up, all my spirits have gone away. I refuse to believe they were never here at all, but they haven't left me before.

_Elliah, you have to do something. Get some food. Find shelter. Anything._

As of now, I happen to be in a swamp. Since I have no clue as to what may sit in the murky waters, I stick to the rocks, clambering along in search of something (I just don't know _what_ yet). It is difficult to walk with such a heavy pack on my back – I stuffed the near-empty one containing my Gamemaker-supplied weapon into the one I picked up - but I didn't expect these Games to be easy. A heavy bag is the simplest of my troubles.

Yesterday, I looked through my two packs. The one containing my Capitol-provided weapon has a map and some electrical wires. I suspect if I was a District Three genius, I would love my weapons. I am not, however. And I don't have the physical strength to strangle someone with wires. I don't think.

Oh, how am I even alive still? I'm little, half (or more than half) mad, and the crowd hates me. How couldn't they? After my outburst during the interviews, I can guarantee that none of them are sponsoring me. Lili was tactful enough not to comment afterwards. She just told me it was 'mediocre'. Cyrus said nothing, either. Perhaps none of them had any words.

Plus… I don't even want to be alive right now. I would be much happier in my own world, talking to Cyrus.

Is there a Greek myth that could be a metaphor for my situation?

No, I believe I'm living my own special sort of hell right now.

_Think. _

My map is useful. It gives me a vague outline of the Arena; we have the Cornucopia Room, its foggy ring, and then the four sections. I appear to be in the Southwestern bit, the swamp. Diagonal to me is a section of trees – a forest, perhaps, that could serve for good shelter. I'm uneasy, not knowing what lies in this swamp. Plus, there are rope bridges drawn onto that section of the map. If travelling by tree is the only option there, that would be ideal for me. To my right is a blacked-out section, indicating….something bad, I suppose. I don't want to know. Ahead of me lies a forest with cabins drawn onto it. My guess is the Careers stay near the Cornucopia.

Perhaps I could travel to the forest with cabins, then east to the tree area. I know many tributes – probably the less intelligent ones – will seek shelter in the cabins. I cannot afford to make that mistake. It's too easy to trap yourself, but –

Why am I even thinking about this!? I couldn't bear to live with myself if I won. I'm terrified to die, as I am sure everyone is. I'm as terrified as Cyrus was. I saw the look on his face when Sparrow's knife made its deadly way across his neck. But I still don't want to be here.

I look up at his floating figure, feeling my eyes sting with tears. I try desperately to push the tears back because there could be cameras trained on me right now, but I can't. And why should I? I'm a thirteen year-old girl being forced to kill people in order to keep myself alive; why _wouldn't_ I cry? My only friend ever is dead. I stand by what I said in my interview. Even if it makes me unpopular with the crowd.

Then all of a sudden, without any warning, I literally burst into tears, crouching down, rocking back and forth on my boulder, vision blurring, mumbling incoherently to myself. (Words. I mumble words. Words are comforting, words are solid, words don't try to kill you.)

Why do they do this?

"Why do they do this, Cyrus?"

I look up, and he isn't there. No response.

"I thought you said you'd be there for me," I continue. _"Where are you?_"

_Where are you now that I need you so much?_

* * *

I have decided. I will continue to stick to the rocks as I have done, limiting myself to one granola bar and a sip of water per day until I find other food. I can fill up my bottle every now and then. Hopefully the trees to the northeast will give me cover.

And soon, I'll die. But I'll prolong it for as long as possible. I am scared, as anyone would be.

But say I lived. Say, hypothetically, I managed to hide until no one else was alive. I couldn't live myself when I got home. Of course I would kill myself the minute I stepped foot in District Eleven, not being able to live with the fact that twenty-three others died in order to ensure my survival.

But I'm scared. I would much rather die on my own terms than by the hands of someone else.

And I haven't made peace with the thought of death yet.

I continue to walk along the rocks, yearning for food and fighting off the demons that plague my mind, but to no avail. Tributes have returned to follow me; now they're talking. Kilea reprimands me for tripping over her dead body.

"I'm sorry," I whimper. "I was running, I was scared. I didn't mean to."

"_But you did anyway._"

I shake my head to clear it, but Lush fills the void.

"_Quintus deserved to kill you. You shouldn't have gotten away, because you're weak. Weak and pitiful." _When she spits, her saliva is sparkly and silver and lands at my feet, snakes itself up around the black ankles of my jumpsuit. I shake it off; I keep walking; I try to slow down my breath.

I can feel myself slipping away.

I also feel myself nearing the edge of the swamp.

"_You're right. You _are _nearing the edge of the swamp." _I look up to see Ryan, the boy from District Five, standing over me. He looks solemn.

"So you can hear my thoughts now?" I ask, though I am unsure as to whether or not the spirits could hear my thoughts before. Everything is a large, dark, traumatic muddle in my head. I understand completely why I was so distraught after watching the Hunger Games on my parents' television at home.

At home…

I haven't really stopped thinking about Alex and Isaiah since I left, but they have been buried at the back of my mind. It is extremely painful reminisce of home. Cyrus and I came to the silent agreement that we would talk about it as little as possible. He seemed happy to leave his past behind; it is not in either of our healing processes to remember the painful things that have happened to us. I was too pushy though. I wanted to know what made Cyrus the way he was. Once I asked him, and was saddened by what I heard; how could I watch my sibling die and even live afterwards? I had no problem telling him about my life in District Eleven, but nothing brutal ever happened to me. I am simply… weak-minded.

"_Elliah, listen when I speak. I said yes, I can hear your thoughts. I'm a part of your mind, remember?" _

I look back up to see Ryan from 5, appearing slightly annoyed. "Sorry," I murmur, "But what do you mean when you say you're part of my mind? I'm afraid I don't understand. You're a spirit, aren't you? You're real… just like all the others, right? I'm sure you've seen them, they just aren't around here right now. Do all spirits live together in the spirit world? I really couldn't bear it if you weren't real."

"_Elliah, we all live together in your mind. But we are very much real, if you think we are."_

"Oh. I never thought of it that way. Are spirits wise, Ryan?"

"_I'm only as wise as you are. But perhaps I could make you think consciously about things you haven't before, if that's what you were wondering." _

"Maybe you could tell me if I will have to kill people."

"_I think that's something you'll have to figure out on your own when the time comes." _

"But you are me. I would be figuring it out myself if you told me."

Ryan looks irritated when he responds. _"This is the Hunger Games. Kill to win. The question is; do you want to win?" _

"Not really, Ryan. I want to be with my parents and Alex and Isaiah, but I think Cyrus needs me more. I'd like to be with Cyrus. I care about him far more than I ever should have let myself."

"_You'll know what to do." _

With that he turns a sparkly, silver sort of grey, like a cloud, like Lush's spit, and vanishes into the wind, leaving me more confused than ever.

Would I be happier with Cyrus?

I'm stumbling with fatigue when I come to the edge of the rocks. And when I see the humanoid figure on the rocks, I begin to wonder if I am dreaming, hallucinating. But as I grow closer, I'm sure I am not. I see the sleeping body of Nex Winters, the boy from District Ten. The lone boy, the sardonic and quiet one that I spent little time observing.

"_Will I have to kill anyone?"_

"_You'll know when the time comes." _

Perhaps now is the time. I could get a step closer to Alex and Isaiah.

_But Cyrus._

_Who do I care about more?_

_Am I willing to die?_

**Why can't all the pain go away?**

Trembling, I take a step toward Nex. He looks very peaceful in sleep.

I take my wires out of my backpack.

Killing is what I'm supposed to do, right?

_Is _it?

I wrap them carefully around his neck, not wanting to wake him up. He snores quietly, like a baby sleeping.

Like Alex or Isaiah sleeping.

Like _Cyrus _sleeping.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, ready to tighten the wires.

I can't.

"_You'll know when the time comes."_

Sighing, silent tears making their way down my face, I loosen the wires around his neck and pack them into my bag.

There has been enough death to go around.

I feel an incredible sense of guilt, knowing that his life was so close to slipping away and it would have been my fault.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't be better," I say softly, and then I leave him to sleep.

Finding a rocky area that provides shelter, I sit down. I think about Cyrus, about how he was the exact type of person I wanted to be with. My brother, my companion, my friend; we were a good match. We protected each other from the monsters in each of our own minds.

I take the wires back out of my backpack, staring at them intently. I didn't realise it… but they could be very deadly.

I'm strong enough to kill myself, aren't I?

I should hope so.

I hold the little wires to my neck now, noting that they fit perfectly.

It would be wonderful, would it not, to be with Cyrus again?

I would love to live with him for a million years and our minds would be untarnished. We would be the lucky ones. We would be the escapees, the ones that got away, the happy children.

That sounds too nice.

I put the wires down.

For now.


	39. Red

**A/N- **I'm going to warn everyone right now but there might be a gap soon, I have the next chapter don't worry but I need to do some more planning with the mods for future stuff for the Games otherwise the story will catch up and I won't have anymore chapters... I've gotta stop being lazy xD Hopefully that won't be a problem though :D Anyway enjoy this chapter!

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**Fritz as Pritz A/N- **I am aware that it is Adalia, not Adelia, but Wyatt does not so… yeah. Enjoy his decline from innocence.

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******Wyatt Kipper, District Three Male**

******Day Two Evening**

**__****Fritz as Pritz**

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I hate red. Red reminds me of when Laurel would come by with her cheeks and eyes red from her crying. It reminds me of when she would lift up her shirt and show me the deep cuts on her stomach with blood running out of it. Red reminds me of the color of my face when I got angry and hit her.

I don't like that my blood is red or that my hair is red too. I don't like that that evil color is inside of me all of the time, waiting to hurt me and give me pain. It comes out of me now, the deep red of my blood dried over and stuck to me reminding me of my hurt.

I pause for a little and look around. It's dark here, but we can still see around. I wonder how that is. Papa would have a good explanation and so would Cassy. I wonder if they are surprised I am still alive. I think they are all surprised, especially Papa. I wonder why he was always so mean to me. Mama would say that he only wants what was best for me, but I had a job and I was nice to people and it wasn't enough. Why did Papa want me to be like him? I can feel the red inside of me start to take over like it always does when I get mad. I shake my head and forget about what I was thinking about. I don't want anything to do with red.

An angry noise makes me jump out of my thoughts and I look at the sky. I don't know why I do that because I know I won't see anything past the thick fog around the treetops. "It's just a cannon," Adelia grumbles. I think she's annoyed with me because I don't move as fast as she wants (or maybe she's annoyed with herself because she can't move as fast as she wants either). She wants to stay far away from everyone else for as long as possible and I think she thinks I'm stopping her from doing that.

"Who died?" I ask with my eyes still looking up.

"Like I would know." She takes this time to lean on a tree and catch her breath. Her ankle is hurt and I want to help her, but every time I ask about it she simply says we have to hurry. I don't know where we're hurrying to and sometimes I don't think she knows either.

"Maybe we should rest," I say. "You're hurt."

"We have to hurry."

"But—" She starts walking away and I follow after her.

I remember when I told Miss Matilda about picking Adelia as my ally. She had a lot of mean words to say. "_She's trouble_," she said. "_Her mentor thinks she'll go crazy just like her brother did when he was in the Games. If you stick with her, Wyatt, then you're asking for trouble._" I remember getting angry with her because she wouldn't give Adelia a chance just like she wasn't giving me a chance. If Miss Neon wasn't there, I might have done something bad.

But I think Miss Matilda was only worried about me. She doesn't want me to hurt like how Miss Neon hurts now. Since I helped Miss Neon that day she had been treating me differently, like I was going to break if she handled me too roughly. I told her that Papa would be mean to me all the time, but that made her even more careful. She treated me like she was treating Miss Neon which made me feel strange.

I think I have been getting angry a lot now and I wonder why. Inside of me, I think I already know why. It's Laurel. I'm still upset that no one would save her and that I don't even know if she is alive or not. I try to convince myself that everything is okay and that I shouldn't get angry about something I can't change, but I can't. As much as I want to, I can't just forget about Laurel and I don't think I should. I think someone should think about her.

I'm starting to think too much and that's bad. That's how I start getting angry again.

I look at Adelia who is a few steps ahead of me even with her ankle. I'm hoping that if I stay slow, she'll slow down too, but she's too stubborn. She's like Laurel in that way.

"What do you think is out here? It's kind of creepy with the fog and stuff. It's like something will fall down from the sky." Adelia doesn't respond, but I'm used to that now. She doesn't normally respond to me when I talk.

"I think I saw a stream back there. We should get water." She pauses for the slightest second before continuing. She holds the map of the arena in her hands and I think she is trying to find something on there. I wouldn't know what, though. She won't let me see it. It hurt a little when she said I couldn't see it, but I thought that maybe she is right. I would get us lost if I tried to lead us around.

I know that she thinks I'm an idiot, like everyone else. It never hurt me before knowing that but it does a little now. Sometimes I think I'm not enough for people because I'm not smart. There I go thinking again. I have to stop doing that. I wonder if all of the other smart people think the same dark thoughts that I do. Maybe that's why everyone is always so sad. I'd rather be happy and dumb than sad and smart.

"What do you think will happen if you win the Games?" I ask her. "I don't think I'll win but if I were to, I'd make sure my friend, Laurel, lived with me at the Victor's Village so that no one could hurt her anymore. And I think I'd use the money to help people, like giving money to the people in the getto who can't pay for food or give money to the schools to help the other kids who can't read good so that they don't fall behind." But mainly, I would help Laurel. I would make sure that she was always okay.

Adelia doesn't answer me and I think that she won't answer me at all when she mumbles something very softly. I catch the word brother but nothing else. "What was that?"

"Nothing," she grumbles.

She steps on a rock with her bad ankle and nearly collapses. She catches herself and straightens before I can get to her. "Let me look at it at least," I say pointing to her foot.

"What would you even do about it?" she snaps.

I look at the floor for a bit, but meet her eyes when I speak. "I used to patch up Laurel when her step-mom beat her. I know how to take care of a hurt ankle." I feel something strange behind my eyes and I think the red is starting to invade me again. Adelia looks away from me and I think I made her feel guilty.

"At least let me help you walk," I say. "How much farther is it?" She glances at the map and then takes in our surroundings. I take this time to look at the map. I don't like reading maps because I think it's too easy to get lost, but I think I can understand this one. I think she is taking us to one of the funny little brown dots.

"I'm fine," she insists as she starts forward again. I want to pick her up, despite my hurt shoulder, and take her to where we need to go. I want to tell her that she is being dumb in making her injury worse. I want to tell her to listen to me. But I don't. I follow behind her.

It's quiet around here and I can only hear our footsteps. I don't like it being this quiet because then I start to think and I don't want to think anymore. I don't want to talk either because sometimes when I talk too much Adelia gets annoyed. I think it's better for now if I stay quiet, but staying quiet makes me think, so I don't know what to do.

I hear something in the distance that makes me stop. "It's nothing," she tells me as she continues. But I'm not sure. What if someone is following us? What if there are monsters around? The only thing I hate more than being angry is being scared. I keep going but I keep looking behind me to make sure nothing tries to sneak up on us.

It gets darker than it was before and I think the sun is going down. I tell Adelia this and she pays no mind to it. I keep looking around in the dim light that we have when something catches my eye. I'd know those leaves anywhere.

"Wait Adelia, wait!" I say going to the very familiar leaves. I start to dig around them when I feel Adelia stand beside me, watching me as I work. I keep pushing away the dirt until I pull out my prize.

"Parsnips!" I tell her. "As far as foods go you can't get much better. We'll have to be careful picking them up because the sap from the stems and leaves are toxic and if we touch them or eat them we'll get a bad rash, but we'll still have food and lots of it if all of these leaves are a clue." I am excited because I was able to be useful, which I didn't think I would be able to do. I should thank Laurel for that because she was the one who would bring me with her to hunt for stray tubers. Mr. Carrow gets some thanks too because he liked to tell me about the vegetables he got in from District Eleven.

I start to pull out the other parsnips around them when Adelia gets on her knees and starts to help me. We manage to pull out seven of them, but I know there are more around. We put them in my back pack forcing me to hold onto the small axe that I was given. I'm happy that we found food because we didn't eat anything yesterday which is probably another reason why Adelia was annoyed.

We start walking again but we both seem happier. Things should be better now. All we need to do now is find water to wash them off and we'll be fine. If Adelia is leading us right, the brown spot is near a creek of some sorts.

It keeps getting darker and it's harder to see where we are going. I'm starting to wonder if we will be able to find what we are looking for. Then I hear the little sound of water moving. We move toward the sound and when we find the creek, I take the time to clean off the parsnips. I want to cut off the stems now, but Adelia gets impatient and we have to move again.

I begin to think that we'll have to find somewhere safe around here to sleep when I see the thin outline in the distance that looks like a house. "Is that what we're looking for?" I ask her and she nods. "We've made it! And we have food. I think things are getting better, don't you?" To my surprise, she nods again, but I think it's because she is happy that she won't have to walk anymore.

We make it to the little cabin and walk inside. Because it's dark, I can't see much, but there isn't a door and inside there looks to be chairs that are starting to fall over and would break if I tried to sit on them. I can see little mice and rats run along the dirty wood floor and I think one of them runs into one of the many spider webs around there. I don't know why, but I kind of like it.

Adelia and I sit in the middle of the floor and I pull out the parsnips so that I can cut off the stems, which I do with the knife that was thrown at me. I pause and touch my shoulder. That made me mad too, but I don't like thinking about that. I don't like to think about how scared I was when she hit me. It makes me think of how scared Laurel is when she is hit.

"You think we can make a little fire just for light?" I ask Adelia. It's getting harder to see now that the sun is gone.

"No. There's too much smoke," she tells me. I wish we could, but I don't want to get caught so I don't say anything else about it.

I finish cutting up the ends and cut one of the parsnips in half so that we can share it. We nibble on it to make it last longer, but it doesn't do much if you ask me. I like the sweet taste though and it reminds me of when we would run out of sugar at the bar and Tommy would have me cut up parsnips so we could use that as sweetener. I wonder if Tommy is thinking of that as he watches me. I wonder if they are playing the Games in the bar now and he could see how I'm doing. I hope they're still rooting for me even though they think I'll die.

Once I finish, I put my bag to the side and look the axe I got in my backpack. Adelia got stuff to make bombs with and the map. We looked at it yesterday and I even knew how to make a couple of them. We would make smoke bombs in class because they weren't very dangerous. Griff knew how to make stink bombs and he liked setting them off near the Peacekeepers.

"Can I see your ankle now?" I ask her. She looks at me from under her eyelashes and slowly moves her foot toward me. I think the fact that I found us food has helped her trust me a little. I hope that she knows I wouldn't ever hurt her.

In the bad light, I can't see what's wrong, but her ankle is purplish and a little yellow I think. At least it's not red like my wound. I use my knife to cut off some of the sleeves of my jumpsuit so that I can patch her up. I might get a little cold later, but that's okay.

"Ice always helps," I start to say as I wrap the cloth around her ankle, "but since we don't have that I think the bandage will work okay. If it's too tight let me know. I think I'm pretty good at wrapping bandages now, but sometimes I do it too tight or too loose and Laurel has to fix it. She's a lot better at that stuff than I am." I start to get sad again so I change the subject. "You should keep your foot up. I don't know why, but Papa always said that it helps. I can bring one of the chairs over so you can rest if you like." By the time I finish talking, I am finished. After that I pick up one of the chairs which is heavier than I had thought, but still not heavy enough for me to be bothered, and set it down in front of Adelia. As I pick up her foot to put it on the chair, I hear the Capitol's Anthem.

"I'll go see who died. You stay here."

"As if there's anywhere I could go," I hear her grumble.

I go to the door and look up at the sky. I don't know how I can see the Capitol's little picture thing because of the mist, but maybe the Gamemakers made something special just for us. I wait anxiously for the picture of the tribute to appear, hoping that it's not Spark. I don't think she liked me very much, but I still don't want her to die.

The image of a boy with black hair appears and I don't really recognize him until I see the ten at the corner of the picture. He was Adelia's partner. Next I think was his name. I think Miss Matilda mentioned him once, but I can't remember what she said about him. I feel bad for not remembering because what if no one else remembered him either.

I go inside and try sitting on one of the chairs. It didn't break, but I think it might if I stay on it too long so I get up and lean on the wall instead. I hope the walls don't break on me too.

"Next died," I tell Adelia. She blinks and nods, but doesn't do anything else. I wonder why. Maybe she didn't like her district partner. Maybe he was mean to her and didn't like her. Maybe she just doesn't care.

I rub my hurt shoulder to try to get some of the red away. "Do you think anyone was there to help him?" She doesn't reply and I think that maybe she is a little sad that he died. Or maybe she isn't paying attention to me. "I don't think anyone helped him just like no one helped me when I was hurt. There were plenty of people around and no one helped me." I try to rub away at the red again.

"Why do you think people don't help other people?" I ask. I pause to see if Adelia will respond, but when she doesn't, I continue. "I used to think that it was because some people just couldn't help other people, but I don't think that's right because Griff and Mr. Carrow and Tommy and Bates and Papa and Mama and Cassy could all help Laurel but they kept saying that they couldn't.

"Why can't they? I did. I did it for a really long time and with no one else's help. And I'm supposed to be the idiot. Why can't they try? They'd probably call me stupid for asking but I don't care." I can feel the red in me start to take over but I don't know how to stop it. I don't think I want to stop it. "I don't care about a lot of stuff anymore because I don't think a lot of stuff actually matters. What does matter is Laurel is hurting and no one will help her. I think it's like how I'm here and no one will help me either because they already think that I can't do it, but maybe I could if people helped me. Maybe Laurel could be someone really important and amazing one day, but no one will know because they aren't helping her. Instead she'll die. Like me."

I take a moment to think about what I said and I try to get the red to go away by remembering the good stuff instead of the bad ones. I don't think it's working very well. "I think that's okay though because if people don't want to help people who are hurting, maybe it's better that they don't hurt anymore. But then maybe when those people who didn't want to help start hurting, they won't get any help either and then it just keeps happening. Mama would say that that was why I was here to help people, but what happens when I'm gone? Who will help people then?" I look at Adelia and she looks at me. I don't know what she's thinking, but at least she's listening.

"I don't want to die because I'm scared even though I am. I don't want to die because then there would be no one else to help people and I think that's sad." I hope they hear me. I hope that someone decides to help someone now. I think dying would be worth it if that happens.

I stop rubbing at the red on my shoulder and look at Adelia. It's really dark now and I can't see much of her. I try pretending that Laurel is with me instead of Adelia. I pretend that she and I are hiding away from her step-mom somewhere secret that only she and I know. She would sit really close to me because she knew I wouldn't ever let anything hurt her while I was around.

I start getting sad, really sad, because I know why I keep thinking about Laurel. It's not just because I miss her. It's because I love her and I feel bad for not being there for her. Now we are both hurting and no one can help either of us. I think that's what the Games is really about: to make us sad and mad so we aren't happy anymore. I don't want that to happen to me. I won't let them keep me sad. Not anymore.

"I'm going to sleep," I say to Adelia with a little smile on my face. "Goodnight." I go to the corner of the cabin and use my axe to get rid of the spider webs. Then I curl into a little ball and close my eyes.

I dream of Laurel and that makes me happy. I'll be happy again. I promise.

* * *

**A/N- **You'll find out what happened to Nex soon enough ;)

16th- Nex Winters, District Ten Male – Killed by Unknown


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